His expression doesn't change; the smile's still reaching his eyes, all lopsided and wry, but his eyes take on a few more fleeting feelings. A distance, kind of like he's not all here; a touch of regret.

He shrugs.

"Well, I try not t'quantify other folks' sufferin'. My life ain't so bad, when y'get down to it. How many people get t'say they spend their days in a magic bar with loony holidays an' the finest-lookin' smiles y'could ever hope t'see?"

He winks, letting a slow laugh out through his nostrils.

"Tell y'what. I'll sing you my sad song if y'sing me one'a yours, an' then — y'can tell me if the bourbon ice cream's any good. On me."