"Lane one form!" our delightful American friend chirped.

"Oh you're one of those people," Bec declared, using the 'art show' voice we'd been delighting in earlier in the evening, stretching out 'those' until the noun that came afterwards could have been anything but would always be synonymous with 'cockroaches'. "I don't carry those people in my car." She screeched to a halt on the brightly-lit pedestrian crossing. "Get out."

"Hmm," the American said, not moving. "I'll just steal a bicycle from the shed over there."