Oh, sure. What's my grade, teacher?

[There's a lift of an eyebrow, and something inexplicably perverse in the turn of his voice. Fucking teenage boys, man.]

So what should I get here? You said the steak's good, right?

[He eyes the menu, realizes he doesn't even know what half the crap that's supposedly in English is. What's carpaccio and proscuttio? He looks up at Roman a little helplessly. Rich Folk almost seems to be it's own dialect as far as Peter is concerned.]

Yeah, but you seem to do okay.

[Peter's always listened to the bathroom gossip. Ear to the ground and all that.]