You frown and turn to eye the man standing beside you.
Marco isn't looking at you. He's bouncing from foot to foot, a steaming coffee in one hand, a lit cigarette in the other. With the help of a nearby streetlight, you can just pick out the shape of his face, sharp and angular, beneath a mane of shaggy blond hair.
"What did you say?"
"Octopuses," he says the word again and blows away a mouthful of smoke. "Or is it Octopi? Anyway, that's my answer."
"Eh. Excuse me. What the fuck are you talking about?"
"You asked me the other day who I thought had the freakiest sex," he explains. "Or was it Ed? Yeah. Maybe Ed asked that. Anyway. I reckon it's octopuses. The male literally rips off his testicle and gives it to the female. Like, holy fuck. Can you imagine? You're down at the reef, eating some fish, and over the coral you see this tentacled babe squirting ink left and right like it's no one's ocean but hers. The Scarlet Johansson of octopuses." He pauses to huff on his cigarette and coughs as he exhales. "She's all yours. But if you want to have sex with her you have to reach down – calm cause the ladies don't like the jittery sort – and rip off your left nut. Just rip it off and pass it over."