Oregon. Better than a favela, at least. And in a small, friendly town like this, the other guy shouldn't cause too much trouble.
"Haven't seen you around here before. New?"
Bruce looked up at the waitress and stuck on a grin. "Yeah, ah just came from Texas 'bout two weeks back, see what all of y'all Yanks get up to up here. Mighty fine country y'all got. Wet as mah Mama's pee-can pie, but it shore is purty."
She nodded, smiled, and slid into the booth across from him. "Your accent is ridiculous."
Bruce blinked wide-eyed for a moment then put his Texas-sized grin back on. "Well, hon, ah can't help the way ah was raised. Yonder in Texas-land-"
"No, really. It's ridiculous. I'm Texas born and bred and I know a Texan accent when I hear one. That? Is anything but."
Bruce leaned back and glanced towards the door, feeling his pulse start to go up.
"It's fine. I doubt any of these 'Yanks' will notice. I can help, if you'd like."
His brows furrowed slightly, then he gave a hesitant nod.
"Right. First lesson: y'all and all-y'all are different words, with clearly defined meanings. They are your friends…"