I met a traveller once, in the world-renowned Flying Pig hostel of Amsterdam, who seemed pretty cool.  Well, actually he seemed to be high as shit, but I figured that was cool, I mean it was a hostel in Amsterdam, after all.  Our conversation went something like this:

Me:  “So what’s up?  How long you out for?”

High as Shit Guy: “Uhh, ‘bout a year.  Left Australia like six months ago.”

Me: “Oh cool!  So where’ve you been?  Must’ve been amazing!”

HSG: “Oh.  Uhh, yeah.  Well, uhh, I’ve been like, here?”

Me: “Oh.  Uh huh.  So like, Amsterdam?”

HSG: “Nah, nah, like… here.” Gestures to our seating area.

Me: “Oh.”  And I just can NOT let this one go. “So you haven’t made it off the floor of this hostel in six months???”

HSG: “Nah.  Keep thinkin I should, but like, I like it here.   And if I like, left, or whatever, how would I like, know where to get my drugs?  I mean, I got the dude down the street I see every morning.  Like, what would I… do?”

Me: “Yeah, that’s a toughy, man” [“Yo,” poke poke to my brother, “we gotta get the fuck outta this hostel, dude, before we’re sucked into the vortex…”]

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