"Greeteings, brother," he said. "Think you could manage to help a friend?" I handed over the fifty cents I'd planned to spend on coke and potato chips, and then I leaned against a post, watching this hippie and studying his ways. [...] I watched for half an hour, and then the cashier came out, fluttering his hands as if they were whisk brooms. "We can't have you hassling the customers," he said. "Go on, now. Scoot." Hassle was a young person's word, and coming from a full-grown man, it sounded goofy, reminding me of the way movie cowboys used the word amigo. I wanted the hippie to stand up for himself, to say, "Cool it, Baldie," or "Who's hassling who?" but instead he just shrugged. It was almost elegant, the way he picked himself up off the ground and crossed the parking lot to what was most likely his parents' car. It didn't matter that he probably lived at home, criticizing the system during the day and sleeping each night in a comfortable bed. He'd maybe put my quaters towards some luxury - incense maybe, or guitar strings - but that was no big deal, either. He was a grown-up's worst nightmare, and, minus the hat, I wanted to be just like him.

David Sedaris - Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim