No takers yet for the chair. So much for the easy camaraderie and sharing of stories that is so much a supposed part of the hostel experience. Of course, Seb and I don't quite have our sales pitch mojo flowing just yet. On the one hand, my vibe is that of a unionized parking lot attendent with only one gap remaining, profoundly disinterested with whether or not you fill my slot. Seb, on the other hand, has that whiff of a used car salesman on an unusually-long crystal-meth jag, jittery, rambling, possibly well-meaning, but ultimately toxic and on the edge of sticking a knife in your eye. I'm sure we'll get better soon.

By the way, the piece of detritus under the chair that looks like a catch basin for incontinent storytellers is the barcschair.com "license plate" that displays as you tip the chair back and tow it down the road. Gotta work on my production values...