Metal kids don’t care. 

Dear readers, 

We took an hour and twenty minute flight, from Copenhagen to Riga, and slept the entire time. It was a tiny little, loud plane, but that didn’t stop us from blasting our necks with the craziest sleeping positions we could. You know how we do. 

Catch a taxi to our hostel in Old Riga, which is called The Naughty Squirrel Hostel. Who knows why. It’s a pretty sweet, classic backpackers hostel. After getting into our room and drop of our shit, we face time our lovely girlfriends, and then proceeded to investigate edible food items. 

  
Oh and we took off our boots, which we had been wearing for the last whatever amount of time we’ve been traveling. Who really knows at this point. After a brief break we went to the only place that was open at 12:30am On a Tuesday. The Delisnack. Not knowing what to expect, we strolled in and started to look at a menu. So metal. These kids not only were blasting metal, they didn’t give any shits about anyone, ever. We stood there bewildered, for at least 10 minutes, while they did some weird change counting with the till and had yet to acknowledge our presence. Seriously, a totally isolated tribe of Amazonian jungle folk, having never seen currency in their entire lives, could have done this in a fraction of the time. That being said, after an excruciating wait, they acknowledged that we were living, breathing, humans standing directly in front of them. So be it. Dunc ordered the “Mr. Bean,” I ordered the “Mr. Meatball,” plus fries and beers. The food came out pretty quick, and was really fucking good. Who would have thunk? These kids knew how to slam together a Latvian meatball sandwich with pickled beets? Now we sleep.  

 

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