"Exactly, my friend, exactly." He groans, dropping his chin to his chest because it's agony. He hasn't taken a vacation that wasn't forced since he'd started with the PPDC and that's what he's considering this to be--an extended vacation except without the promise of return.

"Newt Geiszler. I'm guessing your name isn't Texas Ranger, that's what I've been calling you in my head this whole time. Not like, in that old timey Chuck Norris way, though." He's starting to not make sense, which he's okay with, but it also means he's probably had three drinks too many. He likes the feeling, though, that drifty--ha, drifty--feeling that makes him feel just a little removed. It's the distraction he's been looking for.