But if you can still say that, Marcus -- remember?

Then neither of us have drunk enough.

[It's completely mysterious what Marcus is supposed to be remembering, Jack picking up the thread of conversation like they've been in a dialogue all night when most likely he'd only exchanged greetings and nudges for drinks at some point.

But he manages a slightly more alert smile and perches his chin on the bar, watching Marcus at whatever mixing he's trying to do now, or if he's just bustling about doing bartender things... more or less competently.]

Take a break with me? We can... race. Maybe.

[This is yet another thing where maybe a race doesn't make sense, but. Who's counting.]