"Oh, fuck, yeah, none of the girls'd be able to find their goddamn g-strings," he mutters. But the idea has appeal. Work feels distant and unimportant - everything sort of does, and while he feels integrated enough most of the time, suddenly it's though every piece of him has been jarred slightly out of place.

Or like there's a piece missing that he suddenly can't ignore.

He gives Neil's hand a slight squeeze. "So what would I be calling out for?"