"I've got taste," he corrects, revealing his opinion about the general public. Generic people. Living generic lives, doing generic things, that other generic people tell them they should want. Boring.

He watches her find her own bike as he carefully slips his bad leg over his own motorcycle first, sliding the cane into the holder modified for it. He'd had the money, once, to have practically anything he wanted. It had never made him any happier than his Darrow paycheck did, but at least it made things easier.

He feels no shame in lettig his stare grow a little heated.

"The police aren't going to let me off," he says, dismissing her charms, "because I'm an asshole."