Sorry, G’ville, I can’t take it any­more. Your locals are so methy and cracky that I just don’t want to deal. It makes my soul hurt to see so many peo­ple who have given up. Your cli­mate is hot and dusty and dry. Your local cui­sine is lack­ing. Your local enter­tain­ment is … well, it isn’t. The Lodge was a clus­ter­fuck, and it’s a walk into town on a busy, two-lane high­way, and I don’t trust your dri­vers to be legally licensed and sober enough to stay on the road and not come careen­ing into me. I know you would like to con­sider your­self “awfully handy to the city,” but you’re not. I just can’t hack it any­more. I don’t think we’ll be see­ing much of each other in the future. We’re just not meant to be.