I ‘spose you’re all expectin’ me to dig down deep now and bare my soul to you, right? Think I’m gonna get all weepy and womanish rememberin’ the times I didn’t have noone to turn to? Or when my guns were the only things I could rely on, and it was like the whole gŏu cào de ‘verse was against me and determined to see me six feet under? Think I’m gonna start tearin’ up over all the times Mal nearly keelhauled my ass, or coulda thrown me out, or shoulda thrown me out? Or feel all sorry for myself because life’s a piece of gŏushĭ most of the gorram time?
Like hell. That’s what money and whores are for. So you don’t have to feel alone.