Politics

"I hope you do."

"We should ground the owners into fine paste and feed them to the pigs."

"We should ground the workers into fine paste and feed them to the pigs."

"No."

"I did it for the Union. For the rights of the workers."

"So no, I don't think they sent you as a joke. And even if they did, they are in for a surprise."

"With this little foreknowledge I am unsure which side to grind into pigsfeed. The decision must ferment in me. Also -- nationalism."

"Are you sure? Who could say it's not true? If you really don't remember anything.... how would you know?" The thought makes him uneasy. "We should move."

The lieutenant blinks, his mouth slightly open and his body motionless. A microsecond passes.

This goes well with a theory I'm developing: that I'm a down-on-my-luck superstar person.

Unsatisfying. Hurtful. You hear a ringing sound, but not quite hollow. The can seems to be full...

"Understood." He nods, reverting his attention to the container, still stinking in front of you.

"It must have been cramping my style."

"It has a foreboding quality to it. Maybe I needed to lose it, for the Great Bloodletting to begin?"

"I think I didn't want to be a cop anymore, so I threw it away."

"Someone from the Whirling threw it in the trash? I don't know. I'm boring."

You and him are on the same page now -- about The Law and being it. This has affected your relationship positively.

The lieutenant clearly appreciates the chance to clear up the drummer issue himself.