[ Maybe it was selfish for John to keep it to himself. Maybe he should've put all his cards face up, so to speak, in the first place. Maybe bleeding maybe. If wishes were horses or some other bollocks like that.

He doesn't need any other ghosts following him around and last night he could've earned another in the form of the man in front of him. He knows the other ghosts trailing after his sorry soul don't need any other bits of ammunition to toss his way. ]

I'm a nasty piece of work, chief. Ask anybody.

[ It sounds like something one might say as a self-deprecating joke. Except there isn't an ounce of humor. It's all true. Fatigue is catching up but he's struggling against it still. He reaches for his own mug. He's almost missing that extra bit of flavor of the whisky from the night before.

Either way, it wouldn't help with the bitter taste of what he says next on his tongue. ]

Maybe, just until we sort where we are with all this, you should consider keeping it closed.