In the garage, Jason was biting on a straw, eyes glued to the computer screen, making some software adjustments following Tommy's guidance.
Meanwhile, Tommy was wolfing down a plate of spaghetti, sending it into his mouth in large gulps and, between swallows, said to Jason vaguely, "Professor Simmons said there'll be a test next week. You'd better hurry up, Jason, we still have a pile of homework to review when we get back."
Jason spat out the straw, constantly hitting keys on the keyboard, and cursed bitterly, "What a sweet roommate reminder, your caring tone almost made me forget who made me turn into this freakish look, buddy. I almost got scammed into shooting a small movie by an idiot, to help you. Do you know, I'm talking about a day's worth of film, even cruder and more intense than those adult pay-per-view channels, the kind of artistic job that even low-grade prostitutes wouldn't join, only vermin and smugglers are willing to appear on camera. Yes, an 'artistic job'."
