Cohen (thinking): Well, that settles it. Beings don’t feel cold.

. . . Hang on. When he talks, when he breathes . . . there’s no fog. If he was human, he would be dead.

Cohen: Who’s your Master?

Not-yet-Patrick: Nobody, now.

Cohen: Not for long. I want to make the contract.

Not-yet-Patrick: Oh, good. Repeat after me: I, (your name here) —


Guy #1: So then I say, babe, if you don’t like it —

. . . !!

Cohen: Gentlemen. You have a good night now, all right?

Hey — it won’t matter to them, but if you could look a bit less drunk . . .

Not-yet-Patrick: You’re warm.

Cohen: Uh . . . happy to help?