Now standing up and out in the sunlight and fresh air, it's getting increasingly difficult for Grady to deny that he's just spent the last few hours working his way through as much alcohol as he can cope with in one sitting. He can already feel the edges of a hangover playing around the back of his skull. Competing with the urge to sit back down again is the urge to push John up against a wall and investigate the open collar of his shirt, but he ends up doing neither when they're interrupted.

Grady lets himself be guided sideways, then decides that he's tired of both the goddamn daylight and standing in the street and wants to get on with making bad decisions while he's still conscious. He tugs his arm out of John's grip and takes a few slightly wandering steps in the direction that his companion had previously indicated, then glances back over his shoulder.

Hurry up, he signs, automatically, then remembers belatedly who he's talking to. He starts patting down his pockets instead, hunting his own cigarettes. "Let's go, man, come on."