It was a sleazy old bar with a little space for seats and a lot of room for puke and trash. Nobody was at the bar. It was Christmas Eve. The place was limited to loners, stoners and drunk moaners. Our hero sat there with the supposed villain of the story-line. Or was he? “1832 yo! The place wasn't the same. The vintage cars and shit. Just like the movies.” “The movies show what 1832 could have been like. It ain't the reverse man.” Genius snapped. The two ordered for another glass of whiskey and another plate of bread crumbs. “Just picture it man. I was the very same. Just a bit British.“ The Grinch quipped, rolling...something. “British?” “Bloody yes.” “You never age?” “Na.” “But Santa did.” “Yeah. The old hag.” “Don't talk like that.” “Like what?” “Like a...grinch?" Genius, you walked into that one, eh? The Grinch lit what he rolled. “I got tired o my job. I dint want to make bread. I wanted to do somethin' fo the poor yo. I saw em standing there with cigar...