The day started with a delightful breakfast at Ye' Ole' Slammer Hostel. I remarked to my mom that the only thing that could make the meal perfect would be little cat to sit at our table. Sure enough, the lady next to us brought with her a one week old black kitten.

While there I saw Double Dutchers, being both employees and customers. For those that don't know, a group of folks get together every Monday at Espresso News to Double Dutch. That's right, Double Dutch, the past time of six-year-old inner-city children. On "the dance floor," as it is known, the hipsters of Boone unite. Well, the hipsters and me. I stick out like a sore thumb. When the apple juice bottles full of cranberry juice and vodka are passed around, I politely decline and continue to turn the rope. It's lucky I have acquired the talent of turning the rope, or else I might get kicked out. Awkwardly, the Double Dutchers, or DDs as I will now refer to them, work all around Boone. When I see them, I know they recognize me, but I'm not sure if I am a true part of the DD team. Therefore, I scurry away.

I am a wise old owl. Hooooooot. Hooooooooot.