I caught a bit of Savage last night, he was having fun with this.
The most pleasant places in America, if they even exist anymore, are low-crime communities with kids mowing lawns or doing their homework, dad washing the car, and an apple pie cooling on the sill next to a front door that really doesn’t need a deadbolt. These drug-culturphiles think that a peppering of head shops smelling of incense and a variety of glass pipes somehow “offsets” the relative inconvenience of vomit in the street, panhandlers, bars on windows, and tattered rave fliers staplegunned to every pole.