"Right, right. Friends you made along the way." There is something like a spring tensed in John's heart against the rich; he may have lived too many lyrics from a Pulp single in his wild youth. Or maybe he's just an arse.

"Tobacco, mate. I'd give you a try, but I'm not so sure where I'll get me next pack out in the wild black yonder."

God forbid space only has Marlboros.