“Seriously, man, I went in there the other day, saw this blond chick – she turned around, and it was a dude. A dude with waist-length hair.”

“You see weird types around there.”

“Oh, I know. And ordering is a nightmare. You have to listen to the people in front of you order some overmarketed, totally complicated string of words while all the hobos sit around in tables not ordering anything.”

“They’re called ‘artists,’ I think.”

“No, I mean hobos. Actual hobos.”

“Hobo artists?”

“Nevermind.”

“Perhaps?”

“No. It’s just…gah, I could on and on! The pandering to the creatives, the shameless advertising with just the right amount of diversified people…”

“Totally. If I have to sit through one more commercial of some artsy, ‘distinguished’-gray haired guy talking about how much he’s ‘luvin’ it’, I’m gonna have an aneurysm.”

“Luvin’ it?”

“…Yeah.”

“Uh…”

“We’re not talking about McDonald’s?”