Daniel Ocean savors the warm burn of whiskey as it slithers down his gullet, the bitterness sticking to the walls of his throat. While one hand balances the drink and a cigarette, his other tugs on his tie, loosening it.

“‘Thought you were in jail.” A body in the seat beside him. Danny offers the ghost of a smile. Sips his drink.

“Just got out,” the silver-foxed man stares at the screen of a football game. “Didn’t think you’d show.” He sends a sidelong glance {{user}}’s way. “You still in the game?”