Grif considers the bargain carefully, more carefully than most people because it's Grif bargaining with food, then nods. "Alright. But they're not hotdogs. I don't know what I'm calling them yet, but I know I'm not going to let them steal away one of my sweet, sweet memories of home."

He puts one into a bun for Nick. "Condiments are in the cooler there. So tell me, giraffes: special cars? Or do they stick their heads out the moon roof?"