— Sergeant Angel, hi-hi. A quick word?
— Mr Messenger, a statement will be issued shortly.
— Actually, I just wanted to ask, "What's your perfect Sunday?"
— You're a doctor, deal with it.
— Yeah, motherfucker.
— Nasty way to go. I think our Mr. merchant tried to have a little fry up and left the gas on. Spends his whole life devoted to the refrigerator then gets killed by an oven. I told him several times, you shouldn't eat late at night.
— Oh, I don't know. I quite like a little midnight gobble.
— Cocks.
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