What, you think putting your life on the line for some cause is fun? [John says this incredulously, kicking Kevin's calf hard enough to jostle him, turn his attention back to John, but not hurt him. He's angled now to face his roommate, standing over him, palms open-faced and arms slightly apart from his body.] Shit, you think having a cause is a fucking rodeo, man, is that what you're saying? [John's on a roll now; he lifts his hands to gesture carelessly in the direction of the basketball court, the jet hanger, beyond the windows.] You slap on some fucking spandex and life makes sense and you've got a goddamn place to belong? Of course you'd hate it; it's worth horseshit. We don't need it.