(In a derelict building, Grimes has a pot over a small flame.)
Sanderson: What the hell you doing?
Grimes: It's all in the grind, Sergeant. Can't be too fine, can't be too coarse.
Sanderson: Grimesy, you are squared away.
[...]
Grimes: Sergeant, how'd you like a nice hot cup of joe? Gold Coast blend.
Sanderson: Sit down. I want to take a look at that foot.
Grimes: Aw, no, it's not a problem.
Sanderson: Come on, come on. (Grimes sits and removes his boot; Sanderson applies a bandage) Where the hell did they find you?
Grimes: Behind a desk. (Sanderson laughs) No, really! What, you think I'm kidding?
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