- Trip Fontaine (Josh Hartnett) in The Virgin Suicides
I still remember the first time I heard them, those words.
Wafting in sharp, like the first inhale of a cigarette when you’re 16, covered in Urban Outfitters and American Apparel, standing on a beer-soaked porch talking about Boards of Canada and Existentialism, passing a spliff and snorting your friend’s Adderall off a shitty kitchen counter with a rolled-up dollar, feeling cool, like the idealization of any artistic dream cultivated by the media and movies, this is what life should be.
Hitting you hard. Beat-up corduroys and leather boat shoes. A pack of Camels folded neatly into the sleeve of a sun-bleached t-shirt. Blonde shaggy hair falling effortlessly across blue-green eyes that are somehow searching into you. Distant and still. A mischievous, warm smile slowly forms. He should be on a sailboat in the middle of the Atlantic, drinking whisky and writing about his philosophies on isolation and Being.
“Eric is a Stone Fox,” she said. “A solid 10.”
But I wish I would have told myself that no one is worth losing respect for yourself over.
Not even a Stone Fox.