[A dirt track in Wales exactly seventy-five miles from the nearest Starbucks. POOTERGEEK is laden with three cameras, several lens bags, and a tripod. He is trying to open the gate to a field full of sheep by pressing a London Transport Oyster card against the hinge post. A small, smiley LOCAL MAN approaches.]
LOCAL MAN: That’s not going to get you through, young man.
POOTERGEEK: Do they take HSBC VISA?
[The LOCAL MAN shakes his head.]
POOTERGEEK: Bank of Zion?
LOCAL MAN: You have to lift up the catch and pull the bolt back.
POOTERGEEK: [Watching LOCAL MAN open gate for him] Oh, thanks for that. I’m not from round here.
[The LOCAL MAN raises one eyebrow.]
POOTERGEEK: Is there a Tesco Metro™ anywhere nearby?
LOCAL MAN: ?
[POOTERGEEK reaches into one of his bags and pulls out a Welsh phrasebook.]
POOTERGEEK: Pishticuff llandudno boyo richard burton plaid cymru Tesco Metro™?
LOCAL MAN: You’ll have to drive to Abergavenny for one of them.
LOCAL MAN: [pointing at POOTERGEEK’s crotch] Are you going to be alright wearing those? They look a bit tight for walking around the hills.