Wells stares at him for a while, and then sadly shakes his head, covering his face with one hand. "Fuck me sideways," he mutters. "How do you stand it? ... never mind, you mentioned drugs... that's bollocks, the lot of it. You poor bastards."

Must be entertaining hearing sentiments like that coming out of that face, hey?

He leans across the table to have a look at the photograph. "Cute kids," he says absently. "I've seen more cheer in a graveyard. But cute kids."

One hand strays to his front pocket, but stops there.