Farfarello slouched lower in the seat, yawning again and pulling the hood of his sweatshirt forward to partially cover his eyes. "Wake me up when we get to town, yeah? Or, you know, before trying to kill me or something. More sporting, and all that."

At this point in his life, Farfarello could sleep just about anywhere: in alleyways, on tree limbs, on moving buses while sitting next to people who intended to kill him, you know, wherever was comfortable. And without a decent breakfast in his stomach, Farfarello was definitely not feeling too terribly awake.