All this coming to light at once should rightfully scare Eames off to the nearest liquor store and then to the nearest brothel, which should be a hop skip jump over from the nearest racetrack. He should be kicking off a week-long bender, after which he’ll wake up at five in the morning in a humid, unfamiliar hotel room, with chipped teeth and his legs covered in mosquito bites.
Sort of Revolution by pyrimidine