Sweeney, still unsure of the woman-with-the-gun's intentions, kept a portion of his attention ever on her gun-in-hand and another portion of his attention on what she was saying. She hated The City? Whatever for? Sweeney found himself quite pleased with all the different things that came out of it, all the fascinating and unique people he had a chance to meet.
And there was the whole not being dead thing. That helped. That helped tremendously.
"What do you fucken hate it for? S'strange, sure, but lookit all unique people you get to meet and..." He was still just a little wary of that gun and if she was going to use it or not. Maybe this was all an alcohol induced delusion. Maybe it was a low-grade whiskey playing tricks on him.
Hephalumps and Woozles kind of shit.
Maybe it was time for Mad Sweeney to give up drinking.