"Munson. Absolutely. The only thing I love more than the smell of shit is the smell of this shithole." The chains of the swing creak as he moves, legs kicked out in front of him as he takes a final drag of his smoke and tosses it away, really starting to swing.

"You're lucky you have good taste in music, freak, or we'd have problems with you playing this late into the night." There's no heat to his words and his lips are turned upwards into a hint of smile. "Which album were you working your way through tonight, huh?"