DON'T DRINK THE WATER
Summer 2002. Kansas City.

The show's in an outdoor market, no seats, so I've decided that I'll stand near the front for the first band (the one I want to see), then move to the back, away from the crowd, for the headliner (who I'm pretty indifferent about).

Standing alone waiting for a show to start allows for maximum conversational studies. I hear a lot of interesting things, particularly when I'm standing near the portable bar for a while.

I know I'm in for some intelligent wordplay when the pair of frat guys sidle up behind the group of blondes. Sure enough, Frat Guy #1 studies carefully, takes a look at what the girl closest to him is drinking, chooses his pick-up line, and takes his shot. He summons all his charm and smarminess, and suggestively asks:

"How's that water?"