Clark listens respectfully, even if the divots in his brow deepen all the more by the time we get to the fact of no ethical consumption under capitalism, even drinking water. He sips his beer when Bruce does, casting his attention back forwards again.

:/

"Good," he says, on Bruce's night being fine, still stuck on spy octopi before he offers, "I think my baseline is," and he thinks about it for a further few seconds, "does it have a name." His farm just did corn, which made things easier, and no one was willing to eat a chicken he'd named Jeannine at age seven.

And Clark adds, on his way to another beer sip, "Let me have that one," in case Bruce was thinking of refuting the logic. The corner of a non-serious smile not quite hidden.