"Nah, milk's just started to taste nasty to me unless it's mixed in with my food for some reason. Like, I don't go out of my way to buy milk anymore. Soy tastes better to me, I dunno... and I never understood the Indian burial ground shit, why can't it be a Jewish burial ground?"
And is if by cue, one of the many Jewish rabbi's in Southern California, decided at that precise moment to pass by Paul and Vincent en route to the opened exit. Vince had already entered, and the man, with his little curls, hat, and charmingly bent nose bridging his well kept mustache, winked at Paul for his friends perfect mishap with timing.
"Because vee make sure to make a big deal outta where vee bury our dead. No one can miss it." The Jewish man had imparted his knowledge, as he continued down the street. Some might say he was dancing.