For Everything Else, There's Life
My fiancee and I snapped pictures of the gracefully rotting old arcade. We made a short movie about me chasing a block of seagulls off the beach. Walking back in the dark, we, two workaholics on a week’s vacation, ran into an open hula hoop party on the boardwalk. There were two drummers and for the first time in my life I kept the hula hoop going for more than five seconds. Then we ran through the surf and kicked the foam gathering on the sand. It was perfect, it was free, it was odd. Later, we turned to each other and said, “For everything else, there’s Mastercard.” We just had a series of peak moments wrapped around a single location, and our only point of reference for this sort of thing happening was a credit card commercial.
Consumerist society steals our dreams, forbids their execution, and then sells them back to us. You want freedom? This car gets you there. You want companionship? Have a mint.
