Why was everyone always so surprised to find that Joe did, in fact, have some sense of culture? The part of him that was almost an acclaimed screenwriter wanted to bite back, but no, there was no recognition for him on that — only jail and a son he'd never get to see. In another world, the wall behind the bar is lined with Oscar statues, not blinking LED lights (Mary Kay had loved them, said they had that dive bar vibe, and Joe, in all his sentimentality, didn't have much of a choice. It was the only thing he could commit to once she was taken off life support).

Of course, the line came from a slick Tim Drake, a name too ubiquitous to be unrecognizable. Swap out the name, though, and the mindset was always the same, disdain and a sneer masked by something innocuous like surprise. Maybe a costume party was fitting.

Gently, Joseph.

"Uh, neither." Joe looked down at himself and shit, how much of a dumbass did he sound like? Uh, I'm a dipshit. Not that he owed the other man anything. "You ever heard of Succession?"

Joe busied himself with wiping the counter. "Some people think prestige TV has run its course, but fuck that. Not everyone wants to be tied to YouTube and Mr. Beast."