Brian, it was plain, had been decoyed by bromidic tales of cub reporters and "record-smashing beats." He contrasted art and journalism and found Brian indifferent to his scorn.
"It isn't just Whitaker and the sunsets and the desire to exchange the sham of my 'art' for the truth of something real," said Brian.

"It's everything.

It's the studio here and things like--like the shotgun.

I hate the brilliant, disorderly hand-to-mouth sort of Bohemia, Kenny, in which you seem to thrive.

Either we have a lot of money or a lot of debts--" Garry nodded.
"I suppose," went on Brian wearily, "that my nature must demand an orderly security in essentials.