Beer and Loathing in Vermont - Part 4

From the parking lot:
Grandmother: "Do you still have the giggles?"

Child: <snrk>!

We pull over to admire the homes of the druids. At a restaurant bathroom, I re-set the feed on my pen for improved inkflow. We pull over again, and this time I get some St. John's Wort tea and some herbal chew. It's like chewing tobacco, but doesn't have any tobacco, so you can eat it. I ponder how terrible of a precedent this might set for actual tobacco chewing in the future, but remember that I never wanted to chew tobacco in the first place, making me wonder in turn, why the hell I bought it. I am nearly assaulted by an obese corgi whose leash turns out to be just long enough. For lunch, I have a sandwich with turkey and maple syrup—the Vermont-e Cristo. I duck into the bathroom again to re-fill my pen.

We finally arrive, and the people in Montréal speak French in funny accents. It's already 19.00, so everywhere is closed, but we luck into a public bathroom anyway. It's late and everyone is hungry, and I wonder how the Canadians can be so happy and trendy and not-having-to-work-late and I wonder if it has anything to do with their Obamacare, which I suspect is better than mine.

We dine, late, at a restaurant with real silverware and no beer lost; I almost don't bother, but then I get a St. Ambroise 'Dark'. It is superior to the blond, which I originally receive by mistake. My notebook is covered in inkblots, and I take it as a Sign that the tablecloth is not.