[No, Lloyd has no idea, and he's not sure he wants to have an idea. He's not sure wants to know more about this real Hell, except it does bring up some dread fascination in him.

He takes a regular cigarette from the case, and avoids the weed. He's got a couple of reasons for avoiding drugs: one is that drug users were nailed to crosses in his Las Vegas, and it's conditioned a kind of aversion in him, even though he knows there's no such risk here. Plus, the last time he was stoned, things didn't go so well. He'd rather avoid anything that reminds him of the tri-state killspree.]

Thanks.

[No rest for a wicked is a saying that hasn't rung true to him in a while. Up on earth and even here in Hell Lite, he figures it's the really mean motherfuckers who get the best rest.]

Sounds like a pretty crappy job, tell you the truth. I guess like being a prison warden, only a lot more fucked up.

[Maybe Lucifer sees it differently, but Lloyd can't really think of running an eternal torture enterprise any other way.]

Were you supposed to be doing it forever?