"Each one of us interchangeable cogs in the cold cruel machine?" The smile broadens just a bit. If this man is a cog, he's a misshapen one, to be sure.

At long last, Byerly pulls out a cigarette of his own from a pack of Player's Navy Cut. He doesn't light it quite yet - he will, after all, have to stand and go for his lighter to do so, and his intention is to stand only when he is emphasizing some point or another - but instead simply holds it, rolling it between his fingers.

"You're not the only moving part - true enough. But you're not one easily replaced, either." A little quirk of a smile. "In spite of how you treat yourself."