Driving through downtown pseudo-hippy/bohemian-definately-aged-yuppy-town in the monolithic soccer-mom mobile vibrating with the base of Brit-Indian techno and pissed-&-yelling Ani Difranco, windows rolled down, thumbs up from the bakery workers (all the workers heavily pierced). Making-faces contests with the bored children of the aged-yuppies while their parents aren't watching. Drinking hard lemonade whilst reading Hans Christian Anderson and losing to yourself at pool.