Prologue: We Are The RiffRaff

Every small town has That Person, the one that makes everyone stare, that one person the neighbors regard as a confusing, enigmatic creature. There's the guy who walks around in his boxer shorts and ruminates aloud on all of his previous contacts with extraterrestrial life. There's the girl who comes out to water her plants and talks to them too—not just talks to them, but sings “Fight Song” and “I Dreamed a Dream” to them on repeat, because she insists that it makes them grow. There's the four weirdos that duck under the hills and scramble round the bushes playing Manhunt at 6-o-clock, marking the community gazebo as their base and therefore getting in the way of the smokers and the lovers holding hands.
You know, Those People. The people that make you stop, look, and go, “What the hell are they doing?” If your town doesn't have at least one of Those People, you probably don't know that you are one of Those People.
We are Those People. We're the local what-the-hells.
We are the RiffRaff.