This is it. This is really it! you think merrily, throwing on your best set of pants. So they're your only set of pants--no one has to know. You do your best to add dirt to the clean bits (there's no hope of cleaning them, best just be consistent), pull them up your legs and bound outside, ready for destiny to whirl you away to whatever lies ahead in your bright, if unclear, future.
As you step outside, you're greeted by Pug'mir, your neighbor. He's a nasty bog stump of a Nord, and his bottom lip is hanging down just low enough for one of the many flying insects around to slip past into his mouth. You wouldn't be surprised if that was on purpose. A tasty breakfast is hard to come by in your small nameless village ... even for Pug'Mir.
"Oye, you," he says gruffly.
You turn away and do your best to ignore him.
"You know you're not allowed on my property, milk drinker," he yells after you.
"It's not my fault that my property line ends at the border of my hut," you say quickly without looking back, hoping to break free of this conversation and carry on toward the mysterious shouting with haste. "I can't physically leave my hut without trespassing somewhere."
"Not my fault, neither," he grunts. "But the law's the law." He steps aggresively toward you.
You take a step back from him and look to the dirt road behind you. Suddenly, the cheese cart that travels past your village to Riverwood each morning is wheeling past, and without thinking you grab onto its back and swing into its bed among a stock of Limburger and Brie. What luck! You wave a smarmy goodbye to an annoyed-looking Pug'mir, and choose a comfortable wheel of Gouda to sit on for the short ride to Riverwood. As your angry neighbor and indistinct village slowly shrink into the distance behind you, so do your thoughts of them.