Eh? Don't the detectives usually catch the fuckers pulling the trigger? [He must be missing something. This must be some real Hollywood wild west shite over there, where the coppers are more bang bang pow pow than the criminals themselves.] Scotland Yard doesn't even have guns, love. I suppose MI6 might, but. Either way mate, you're on the wrong side of the pond.

[The way this guy says 'bollocksed' gets a bit of a laugh out of John but he tries not to be mean or cruel about it.]

Bit of a monster man meself. Suppose I'd say I'd prefer boat repairs 'nd fishing, if I was that way inclined, but. Once you're fucked in the head, once you've had a monster or two in there having tea parties and redoing the furnishings in your own mind, what's the point? Can't unscramble an egg once it's served up on a breakfast platter. I want the monsters in me life. The cheap thrills from chasing 'em down. [Sometimes he can't even decide if he wants to put the monsters down, send them to hell, or invite them to bed. Sometimes he looks in the mirror and he's not sure what to do with the monster lurking in there, or who will come along to put him down.

But while he's still here, he's fully planning on enjoying himself, yes.]

Well, haven't seen any monsters yet, and the ship's going to come to a port and kick us all off eventually. Why not enjoy everything while we can? I'm going to gamble, hit up the bar, drink one of everything on the menu, smoke a whole pack of some brand of ciggies I've never heard of, and I'm going to charm the underpants off of some of these beautiful people and fuck their brains out. [John shoots a wink at the tall, dark and handsome stranger whose jacket he's currently wearing. If a bacchanal, chaotic, out of control, hedonistic night is in the cards, John's hoping that his name will show up on this dance card.]

You're welcome to join me. Pants optional.