"I thought 200 miles southwest of New Orleans was nothing but water," Hannah said. Must've been more westerly than the straight southwest she was imagining. Not that she cared; point was, he lived in the goddamned boonies. "I don't know how people live out in places like that, yo," she said, pulling her legs up to sit crosslegged on the chair. "I'd go fucking insane without stuff to do. Except like, I don't know. Sit on the porch and drink lemonade or whatever it is people in hick towns do for fun. Cow tipping or some shit. Is that even a real thing?" If so, it was probably something she'd find hilarious.
"Don't punch people... usually?" Hannah echoed, catching that little caveat. "Sounds like there's a story behind that. You should share. Reinforce my belief that most Southerners are just domestic violence cases waiting to happen. Chivalry, my ass. You're from the state that has a major city famous primarily for the bigass festival they throw once a year wherein everyone gets drunk off their ass, pukes in the streets, and flashes their tits for cheap plastic beads. Tell me about how you knocked out some dude's teeth and I'll probably like you better."