Chapter Fourteen Page 5
Cohen (thinking): Well, that settles it. Beings don’t feel cold.
. . . Hang on. When he talks, when he breathes . . . there’s no fog. If he was human, he would be dead.
Cohen: Who’s your Master?
Not-yet-Patrick: Nobody, now.
Cohen: Not for long. I want to make the contract.
Not-yet-Patrick: Oh, good. Repeat after me: I, (your name here) —
Guy #1: So then I say, babe, if you don’t like it —
. . . !!
Cohen: Gentlemen. You have a good night now, all right?
Could you try to look a bit less drunk? They might think you’re a catch either way, but —
Not-yet-Patrick: You’re warm.
Cohen: Uh . . . happy to help?