[ There's hate in his eyes. Hate, and fear. Those two things always seem to go hand in hand for him. ] It's bad, isn't it? Shit hits the fan. People die. The fucker who runs the joint likes to make us suffer. I bet he drinks our tears or some sick shit like that.

[ That's what he's pieced together, anyway, from the little bits of advice people have given him.

Except the tear drinking thing. That's his power of imagination at work. ]