"I'm like a biiiird," Joe Little sang under his breath, sweat running down his ruddy face as he worked at the lock. "I'll only fly awaaaay. I don't know where my soul is, I don't-"
"Enough with the fucking Nelly Furtado!" Hissed Jimmy Big. "I pay you to pick locks, so fucking do it."
"My therapist told me to sing when I get anxious. I get ulcers, y'know."
"You'll get my goddamn boot in your ass," Jimmy said, veins throbbing angrily in his temples. "If you don't shut up and do your fucking job."
Silence, momentarily.
"...know where my home is."
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