In a back alley in a water town riddled with poverty and drug use I am sitting inside a surf shop that has been carefully curated to appeal to the tastes of the lower-end elite class. My tens of thousands of dollars adventure vehicle parked stoically outside my between a luxury wagon and a luxury wagon. A couple chats behind me in some kind of awkward courting manner that, as it proceeds, reveals that the two are not romantic, but somehow entangled in business. This is my morning. This is Wednesday. This is Duluth.