"If I had a lawn, you wouldn't be allowed on it." His nod is assuring of that fact; resolute. Very playful.
"Cheers," he agrees, lifting his beer as well before taking a swig, because he can't bare to do anything with moderation. It's an awful beer, and after a careful swallow, John considers finding where the bartender lives: surely he has a patch of grass that needs to be pissed on.