"Fuck, old-timer," Laney grinned, "whaddaya gonna talk about a DEPARTMENT OF PUBLIC WORKS, next?" He waggled his eyebrows, no harm no foul, who gives a shit.
"17 years . . . you came too late!" I said, pointing my cigarette at him, flicking ash on him, we were all dead anyway, who gives a shit.
"Yeah, but — " (he belched) " — you know — " (he put his hand over his mouth; stewed rat had a tendency to come back up on you, if you ate too much of it and too quickly) " — it glurg—"
He projectile vomited in my face.
And I almost felt o.k. that day!