[Heh, yeah, well he's pretty sure peddling meth pays a lot better than working as PR advisor for the FDA. As her feet suddenly appear next to him, propping onto the booth with a soft thud, Joel glances down at them with a briefly raised brow. Doesn't really bother him, though. He lifts his beer to his lips for a sip and is about to reply to her when a bar waitress approaches the table with the chilli fries he'd ordered. Good thing he ordered only one - it's a pretty generous serving.

He gives the woman a quick acknowledging nod of thanks and reaches for a fry on the edge of the plate. He makes sure the waitress is gone before continuing the conversation.]

The cops here are nothin' compared to what I had to deal with back at home. Sure ain't nowhere near as dangerous. Don't gotta smuggle guns or medicine or explosives in and outta heavily militarised quarantine zones. Don't gotta run the risk of runnin' into Infected. Don't mean I ain't aware of the risks of doin' this job here, though.