During this time, Cassidy smoked all but one of his cigarettes, drank the rest of Wilford's leftover Jack Daniels (it wasn't much; it was still terrible), and tried to console a crying puppy who has no fucking idea what's going on.

So when the door finally opens, Wilford is met with an overly happy bundle of fur tumbling toward his feet.

Cassidy looks up from where he's sitting against the bed, ashtray on the floor next to him.

"Oh, hey. Is the coast clear?"