Well shit. He can't argue with that! What a serious little shit he used to be, huh?

"Whatever you say, old man!" Weaving through the crowd, Wolfwood's fingers just happen to slip into the pocket of a passer-by, liberating his packet of cigarettes. They aren't his brand -- they are, in fact, a brand he's never heard of -- but pickpockets can't be choosers, right? He'll wait another block or so before lighting one, just in case the guy notices the loss, but damn it feels good to have smokes on his again!

"So hey, how about you tell me about 'em? Who are we lookin' for?" How similar are their worlds, he wonders?