John follows. Something's itching in the back of his head, and he can't tell whether it's a real memory or just the kneejerk overconfidence of getting further than expected on the bull. Either way, he cracks a smile at the easy familiarity of Deb, and pulls up a stool.

"Have to celebrate all our little wins, I guess," he says as he tries to get his black hat on straight. "Doesn't sound like we'll be seeing a lot of them out here."

And, having resigned himself to still looking vaguely rumpled, "I'm John."