“Can I buy you a drink?” asks the lady from Hung that’s not Anne Heche or Jane Adams.
“It’s not even 11 in the morning,” teenage Norman Bates’ mom exclaims.
“Good that means the bars are open.” (Does it, though?)
Though someone must’ve imagined this is the kind of bar where women in their 40s would drink two martinis for breakfast, I’ve not really encountered a bar like this anywhere and especially not on the Oregon Coast. Bigfoot’s might be more like it.