"That so?" His arms cross in his red jacket, his lips curve up in a resemblance of a smile, and his eyes fall to her supplies. A knife. To a sane man it'd be a concern. To him it's just another ache, another burst of adrenaline, another fucking fight to feel alive. But she's not reaching for it, so instead it's nothing. Not a damn thing.

"I find most brochures are heavily consumer driven anyway and lack any real useful information. 'Go to this fucking hole in the ground, created free by Mother Nature, which we're now charging you fifty dollars to stare at and spit a loogie off of.'"