[right][h2][color=999999]Lost in Translation[/color][/h2][@Tlazolteotl][@silver21][@Stanifly][/right]

Morgan nods. [color=brown]"Oh, you don't wanna know the half of it. Look at the words, listen to the people; ain't none of it makes a lick 'o' sense. Names of the drinks they got? [i]Imported Genuine Tuesdays, Draft Envelope,[/i] and whatever the hell else. Could probably find a bottle on the shelf named [i]Rusty Cat Liquor[/i]."[/color]

Piecing two halves of this together: nothing except the man seemed real or sensible. He can speak, but can't. The club venue is never-ending. The people in the club could speak, but nothing they said made sense. Even names of drinks were scattered as if some kind of sub-conscious stream of info.

Morgan figured he'd just wait for Sirpa to get a response before properly introducing himself to Teresa. Seemed like the right thing to do anyhow. The situation clearly wasn't his area of expertise.