Sleeping less in Seattle

Through some window at 3am, I stopped in my tracks upon seeing this arrangement. I felt at peace for about 2 seconds before a group of louts hooted and hollered like barnyard animals in a burning building. They danced upon parked cars and made such fools of themselves. Worse yet, this was the gay neighbourhood of Seattle on a Tuesday night. Not sure I'd like to see the weekend here. Must be something akin to Vancouver's Davie Street cross-dressed into Granville Street. I was confounded by the dichotomy of rudeness and politeness. Americans believe Seattle to be the friendliest and most polite of their cities. Yet when I asked if I could use Canadian dollars at one establishment, I was told by the queeny troll at the cash register, "Honey, this is the United States of America. Why would we accept foreign money?" I minded my tongue, but under my breath I could barely hold back, "Because your currency is worth less every day , sweetheart". Entering the US was typically a stupid ordeal. The border agent was no less pathetic. When asked if I were married, I looked at him like, "Do you really want to know my relationship status? Because I will tell you, but surely you don't want to go into that."
He didn't believe anything I told him and challenged me on every point. What a goon. Like I'd gone to an Al Queda training camp or something. He was, however, kind enough to let me enter the Excited States of América without strip-searching me. That was kind of him.