Growing sick of our rooms and
longing for a little contact with America (although, I can confidently say the
other two more so than me), Emily, Brenna, and I called a cab and went downtown
to work on our journals and iMessage at a coffee shop in the square. Little did
we know, all of the coffee shops (even
both Starbucks) closed between six and seven. So, we ended up at a…wait for
it…McDonalds. We were joined by a large, rowdy group of potty-mouth teenagers.
I realize even more now that Joe is quite the gentleman. They stood on the
booths, slapped each other on the butt, and shouted insults like “You bloated,
pregnant goldfish!” (which has a much worse colloquial meaning than you would
expect). Fortunately, for everyone there, they were eventually asked to leave
but only after we were able to examine the style of British youths up-close. It
seems to be all about booty shorts + tights, big and messy, Snooky-inspired
hair, and too much eye make-up. I guess the show Skins might not be that big of
an exaggeration after all!
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