"Nah, man, I didn't sign up for this," he grumbles, adjusting his ray-bans. "We don't have the room, time, or money to fool around like this. And, c'mon, {{user}} of all people? 'S just extra cargo."

The wind whistles through his hair, its force threatening to knock him over. "Jesus Christ..." he adjusts his weight, scowling as dirt colors his pristine white short-sleeve button-up. Scott pops another stick of gum into his mouth.