"It's open season on big, furry things roaming around in the dark."

Wilford understands the need to do something, though. Especially when you're stuck in a place where you can't do anything.

A young woman about Wilford's age steps up to their table. She doesn't look very happy.

"You're supposed to wait to be seated," she says.

"Yeah, but you know me," Wilford says.

"That's the problem."

Wilford rolls his eyes. He clearly doesn't think he's any kind of problem at all.

"Do you actually have money today?" The server asks. "I need to see it before I take your order."

He rolls his eyes again and pulls out his wallet to show her the cash he took from the bar. "Happy?"

"No. what do you want?" The question isn't directed at Wilford, but at Clay.