On this day in Lawrenceville, the humidity was beating me up, so I went into the nearest bar for a beer. But there was no beer. Only adjectives. Empty signifiers floating everywhere. I thought at any moment Jean Baudrillard would walk through the door and order a simulacra or two, a Baudrillardian beer that only existed in adjectival form. A beer you could almost touch, but could never drink. Not really. You could only imagine the possibility of drinking it.