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Ford hopped off the bike, throwing a glance Lilac's way. "Sorry, but I'd rather not discuss it without help from a little alcohol." he explained, walking inside. On the way in, Ford spoke... or more accurately, his clothing seemed to. "Don't worry, he's just manic depressive. He does this plenty, from what I can tell. He'll get lethargic, pass out, wake up and probably do it all again."

"Shut the hell up!" Ford snapped at his pants pocket.

"Why? If you plan to blab so openly, I may as well put in my two cents." his pocket replied.

"...Your crotch can talk," Lilac exclaims, looking southward in disbelief.