Ieri sera, al Mare Nostrum.
Solita ottima cena.
Il whisky era superiore: Connoisseurs Choice, Tomatin, 1988 (non ho sbagliato a scrivere, e' proprio mille novecento ottantotto).
Highway: I hate social functions.
Choozoo: You're gonna love it. Your presence has been requested at the M.A.O. Commanders' open house full military dress.
H: Piss on that.
C: You will be there Gunnery Sergeant Thomas Highway. Stand tall, look sharp and wear all your ribbon so that people can see a dumb fucking hero who isn't bleeding to death.
H: Let's find the bar.
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