Wilford shakes his head. "You're small change," he says. It's not meant as an insult, but a simple statement of fact. Nobody will care about Clay one way or the other.

He pulls into a parking lot in front of an small building. None of the signage nearby is in English, but Wilford climbs out of his car awkwardly and makes sure his side is all locked up before heading toward something that looks like a restaurant.

"Nobody cares if you are or aren't. If you head out to the woods or go to one of the overnight clinics to run around in a cage, you're not going to bother anybody. It's the assholes that hang around the cities and start eating people's kids that get shot in the face."