Last weekend Jill and I were waiting for a bus near the Dupont Circle Metro exit. A whimpster-looking guy got off the Metro and started walking toward us. He was in his early-20s–sharply dressed and sporting carefully-tussled (and most likely highlighted) blonde hair–and as he got closer, yapping on his cell phone and staring into the distance, he said to whoever was on the other end:
“Okay, I just got off the Metro and I desperately need nicotine and vodka.”
Nicotine and vodka. That’d make a great band name.