"Y'know what the difference is between us?" he asked me, blasted to the hilt but somehow wearing it expertly.
For one thing, at least eighteen beers by that point, and I'm no slouch. With such a broad category, I didn't know where to start, or more importantly where to stop my smart-ass parade. But he was in the midst of recounting his glory days of prison, how he got there, and why he would probably be going back before too long, so I wasn't really expected to answer.
He continued after a beer--not a sip... well it was a sip for him, but a whole beer, "If it came down to it, you probably don't have what it takes to lop off a man's fingers with a pair of gardening shears."
"I just can't really picture the scenario where that's my only option," I answered but I could see he was disappointed in my reply.