Tuco folded his arms in front of him, dipping to rest his chin atop the point where his wrists crossed. "Yeah," he replied glumly, glancing over at his own half-empty glass. "Maybe it's a lesson to learn, huh? Something to teach to all thirsty bastards. The world famous Dr Fisher on how to keep your throat wet all night without spending a dime." He slid his eyes across again and smiled with his own wonky signature. "'S the kind of guilt we all happy to live with."

Not that he was in any hurry to down whatever colourful concoction a stranger would wish upon him, of course, but that didn't mean he didn't feel peculiarly jealous. It was like their chance encounter earlier had awoken some primitive part of his brain, and now he just wanted attention—all of the attention, good or bad.

Still, he supposed there was money to be made in being a spectator. If the situation continued to escalate, he was sure there'd be some profit in it.

"Just don't get too cocky, okay?"