(the kind of writing that uses excessive, insignificant details to express something deeper)

~ golden raspberries:

framboises jaunes are the finest raspberries on the market. only people with fancy fur coats and 3-inch heels and velour lingerie can eat them. red raspberries are for people with jansport backpacks and target exercise clothing and library books. and there are no exceptions to the rules. rules never have exceptions or else they simply would not be rules. everybody knows that. and everybody also knows that fresh figs are for the people that work on wall street and dried figs are for the artists, because the fresh figs taste better and that’s just how it goes. the stock traders sip the san pelligrino while the painters gulp down the canada dry because that’s the way the world is made. but if you walk down the street with your leather purse and your pearl necklace you’re not allowed to try those red raspberries, even if you really want to. oh no, no no. and you can read all the books you want of rich manhattan kids that go to boarding school in paris and take walks on the rivier siene and eat crepes for their first dates; there are oh so many of those books that try to convince you that the world will come scoop you up all by itself and cradle you forever; you can believe that but then you’ll spend your whole life waiting for something that simply isn’t going to come dear, and no, those golden raspberries are mine. they're not for sharing.