Brunch 2025

ONE LATE SUNDAY MORNING IN NEW YORK'S EARLY SPRING HAZE, NOT FOR THEM FOUNDER MARCARSON FACED A BORDERLINE LOBOTOMIZING HANGOVER IN THE THICK OF A CROWDED BRUNCH SCENE.
SHEIN
FLORAL PRINTS, SPREADSHEET-FACTORY-WORKING MEN DOING BOTTOMLESS MIMOSAS, A BACHELORETTE PARTY BARKING SATANIC INCANTATIONS–THE SWIRLING CACOPHONY OF SIGHTS AND SOUNDS
CRESCENDOED INTO A STATE OF MALNOURISHED, DEHYDRATED EXISTENTIAL HORROR SUPERIMPOSED OVER POLY-BLEND HELLFIRE. THE NEWTON IMAGE FLASHED BACK INTO VIEW. THE WOMAN, THE CROCODILE, THE ABSURDITY —IT ALL CLICKED.