Car-ride back from the arena. Hurst drove, Graceland shotgun.

"It should have been easier than that, a lot fucking easier." Hurst. "Rory Hayes should not take effort."

"Don't underestimate your opponents, that's what they say." Graceland.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Hurst, grimacing. "I didn't underestimate him, I estimated him properly."

"Yeah..." Graceland looked out the window. Hurst flasheed anger at him.

"He was properly estimated, Miles. All fucking estimated out."

"Okay, okay."

"When I estimate someone, Miles, I fucking estimate them! I do not under or over estimate them, I estimate them right in the center, in the motherfucking middle, exactly – fucking – one-hundred percent – estimation!"

Hurst had been honking the horn with every word to emphasize his point. Cars all around were going crazy.

"Okay! I get it!"

Hurst slapped Miles upside the head.

"Hey!" Graceland cried.

Hurst pointed at him.

"You better take care about how you talk to me," Hurst told him.

Hurst stared ahead and heaved a breath.

"Fucker just got lucky."