Summer in the City.

Just a glance at the savory treats glassed in underneath the counter is enough to fill your belly. The bakers, or whatever the politically correct term for "one of those" these days, walk as if they're bandana-wearing pack mules on a narrow path to and from the back room, wielding cakes and cookies and tiramisu. I ordered tea today, breaking away from my usual day-off coffee. As I handed the man my debit card, he muttered a phrase that never fails to turn heads, "Only in Weaverville." Unaware of my immediate facial expression, another girl behind the counter began to laugh at the contorted snarl of my brow.

"Only in Weaverville," I thought to myself as I looked upon a man in the corner. Hairy, canine hands grasped the local newspaper and a werewolf face hid behind it. I wonder what he was reading? I don't think I've earned the right to say "Only in Weaverville," but I still thought it.

This place, college town turned retirement village, is a curious one. Each time we walk through a doorway the locals get more brave, asking us questions about why were here.

After being greeted with an excited wave and smile, I leaned over to Jackson while sitting at our new favorite spot and said, "We're the bees knees here."

This town isn't a big fan of change, and I see why. It may be sheer cockiness, or it may be the truth - but I feel like these new guys living on south College are a breath of fresh air to some Weavervillians. Soon enough, our faces will lose their freshness, and we'll be having "the usual." Let's soak it up boys.