[doomey taps a pall mall from his pack, clamps it between his tooths, and he thumbmails a swan vesta, making the tip of the cigarette glow warm. he takes a deep pull. pulls the cigarette from his lips]
Denny's is God. sorry you didn't know that. not your fault, probably brought up wrong. could happen to anybody.
[doomey empties the tumbler, looks around the Floor, maybe looking for a bottle. his suit coat is clean, his white dress shirt unstained for once, his tie sharp and straight, his pants free of rips and snarls. hm. strange. he moves to the cherrywood and pulls open the bottom right drawer. he pulls out a fresh bottle of amber, cracks the seal, gives himself a good pour. he recaps the bottle and plants it deep in the bottom drawer, shuts the drawer. he sips at the amber]
too many ties to the D. drive by one, you've little choice but to pull in and order. so sad you've missed out on this. maybe you're a sambo's kid. understandable. sad, but understandable.
[doomey sucks in some sweet smoke. he steps toward rockefeller]
or maybe you're an applebees guy. i can see that.
[doomey sips at the amber. he steps closer to rockefeller]
s'all cool, cousin. you suck at the teat of what you glean bestest, but at some point somebody must let you know that you are fucking totally wrong.
[doomey grabs rockefellers balls through his trousers, and he twists]
you always pull into a Denny's, rock. you order a coffee, and you look at the picture menu. and then you order some food, savvy?