Some bloke is in the tape room. It's Bald Barton the Dumb: nearly blind, and half a wit in his head.
"Pleasure finding you here, big boy." I say.
He giggles, dribbling holiday blend between the spaces 'tween his teeth.
"How's it hangin', Mroe?"
"Oh Barton, baby boy big belly... Why aren't you home eating Lunchables and playing with with your big, goopy wee-wee?"
"Wee-wee all blistery from cauloused hand, no loshie."