[When you're a fidgety dude, a shop full of bicycles just begs to be touched. Handlebars to crank, wheels to spin. Most of the time it doesn't do anything. He leaves a few fingerprints and nothing more.

But then Smoker's gotta go say some dumb shit like I wanna join yer family but not actually join it and suddenly there's this domino effect going on, one bike falls sideways into another, which tips and falls into its neighbor, and so on, making a bigger racket than dolphins forming a superpod and Namur just stares, mouth open so he can taste that Smoker's not shitting him even if that's an island-whale sized load.]

I'd whoop yer ass if y' pretended the Old Man'd have y' easy as that. But y' can't be both in an' out, that ain't how shit works. We could pretend for awhile, but we'd all be lyin', an' the truth a it'd be either yer all in on the family or yer takin' Ace out. So which is it yer divin' at?