Everything in Whitefish seems to be, actually. There are lots of real estate offices. And the group of Canadian guys who checked in ahead of us, with their golf bags and spiky hair and Jersey Shore pecs on the verge of giving way to beer bellies, made me speculate that there was a douche bag convention in town.
At AK’s urging, I’m reading A River Runs Through It. The narrator’s brother is this smart but super country bar-brawler guy. I hope the convention runs into him out on the town tonight.