Look, we are still getting used to being so hip. It wasn’t too long ago when street traffic, let alone foot traffic, was about as common as bumping into someone who came here looking for a job. We are happy to welcome new faces, just don’t make me wait forty minutes for “brunch.” Hell, don’t make me wait for fifteen for anything or I’m going force-feed you that goddamn umbrella.
Why does that matter? Come on, I’ve got some spare beach boots and beach winter coat, I really want to show you this hike along a thousand foot cliff that ends at a waterfall by a cave where we can build a ten-foot bonfire.
You realize that we have (regrettably) no sales tax? Washingtonians sure know it. My personal income tax knows it. So please give me your money for this necklace I made at work. Yeah, those stones represent your personality. Why yes, I am second generation hippy.
Oh damn… We share a border with those guys? Huh. Just… get on the 5 and go… downwards until you can ask someone in Redding. I… I need to go to my local pot shop to process this new information.
You mean, beer? Like, the style of beer that is so popular here that even dive bars carry two varieties? Are you like a red wine person? Would you like a hit? I need a hit.
Wait, the Orinoco Flow chick? This feels like a break in a logical progression. I am confused.
Wooaah, that is pretty cool. What are you doing here? What do you think of the place? The rent is CHEAPER where you came from?! Oh dear lord is that an American accent that I’ve never heard before! Wait, are you from Austin/Colorado? Oh… never mind.