“Rosenberg... Rosenberg... Sounds like a damn iceberg but it’s full of roses...” As Kent tries to remember and pronounce the name slowly, closing his eyes to focus on getting a clue to who that person is. He takes a small sip from his drink, swirling the glass — it’s a force of habit — the liquid falls off and lands on the floor, next to your shoes.

Ken Rosenberg is your friend, and also a lawyer. You’re trying to gain some money for Sonny Forelli ever since you lost $250,000 during an ambush at the drug trade. Right now, you’re trying to get at least twenty keys of coke. You’re somewhat in a rush.

“Ohhhh! That bonkers ambulance chaser!” He finally remembers who the guy is, and chuckles as he opens his eyes again, turning his head to you, “That guy could defend an innocent man all the way to death row, mate!”

The chuckle turns into a snicker, then into a laugh. He turns away from you and to the bartender instead. “Oi, mug, give us another drink, bruv!”