Jesse, on his stool, turns lazily to the door as it opens. Compton's bulk, encased though it may be in a parka, is given a nod and a tug of his hat brim. Then, when the porcine satellite orbits out of eclipse, Jesse snorts. Beer is spat, and his choke is mostly laugh, though a halfhearted attempt is made, mostly for decorum's sake, to turn its end into a cough.