John stepped off the hovercar, turned around, and indicated the rear seat with his finger.
"It's truly a shame, John, when your restaurant reopens, I fear I'll already be far away in the United Kingdom. Those few cases of Glen Oak in the back are my gift."
He smiles with a touch of mature gentlemanly charm.
"What am I supposed to do with a bunch of sour water?"
John has no intention of accepting trash.
John raises his index finger, interrupting him.
"NO, NO, NO, I suggest you put it in a prominent place. These things are needed in upper-class circles to prove identity. Anyone who knows their stuff will see it and know you're protected by me, your key to the door."
He shrugs his shoulders.
"If you come across someone who doesn't know what they're looking at, you can brag about it. It's worth quite a bit, of course, as long as it hasn't gone bad, hahaha~"
John laughs heartily and sits back in the hovercar.
