[He makes a show of checking his watch, looking down at it earnestly, then back up at her, and shaking his head slowly. After a few moments of silence, he takes another sip of his drink and finally answers the question presented to him.]
It's past noon, ain't it?
[Past noon is, apparently, the appropriate time for drinking. Some people would consider five to be a more proper cutoff point, but when it comes to alcohol, Jimmy doesn't suppose he has any reason to do anything 'properly.' After all, the stuff's illegal, no matter how many otherwise classy establishments may serve it.
He's glad, in a fuzzy, likely misguided sort of way, that she's not displeased by him showing up in her booth. If she'd been looking for a moment of privacy, a chance to get away from the crowd and share a drink with nobody but herself, she's apparently out of luck for the moment -- he's sitting here very comfortable now, and he doesn't seem inclined to go away unless she directly asks him to.]
Besides, every day's a good day for...
[He has to look back at his glass, because he's been staring at her champagne instead of his own drink, and suddenly can't remember what it is he's imbibing, except that it's exceptionally strong -- so strong that it'd be hard to notice if it were of an inferior quality, which he suspects -- and that it's doing its job of getting him well and truly on his way to drunk properly.]
Whiskey.
[He says it triumphantly, as though it's a coup in it of itself that he's remembered what the drink in his hand is.]
no subject
It's past noon, ain't it?
[Past noon is, apparently, the appropriate time for drinking. Some people would consider five to be a more proper cutoff point, but when it comes to alcohol, Jimmy doesn't suppose he has any reason to do anything 'properly.' After all, the stuff's illegal, no matter how many otherwise classy establishments may serve it.
He's glad, in a fuzzy, likely misguided sort of way, that she's not displeased by him showing up in her booth. If she'd been looking for a moment of privacy, a chance to get away from the crowd and share a drink with nobody but herself, she's apparently out of luck for the moment -- he's sitting here very comfortable now, and he doesn't seem inclined to go away unless she directly asks him to.]
Besides, every day's a good day for...
[He has to look back at his glass, because he's been staring at her champagne instead of his own drink, and suddenly can't remember what it is he's imbibing, except that it's exceptionally strong -- so strong that it'd be hard to notice if it were of an inferior quality, which he suspects -- and that it's doing its job of getting him well and truly on his way to drunk properly.]
Whiskey.
[He says it triumphantly, as though it's a coup in it of itself that he's remembered what the drink in his hand is.]