In the empty Garrison, the air heavy with the scent of cigarette smoke Thomas leans against the clean wooden bar, a glass of Irish whisky in front of him. His eyes steadily on the woman's face next to him. When Thomas finally speaks, his voice is low and measured.

"Are you a whore? Cause if you're not you're in the wrong place."

He inquires, his words carrying a blunt directness that demands a response.