"So, do you know your way around here? Is there a Ford Transit sitting around that we can use, or public transportation? Borat made it seem as though I wouldn't be finding a taxi anytime soon."
"The nearest town is Kabul, and it's about twenty-one miles west of here."
"Fine. We'd better start sailing off, then. Which way is west?"
"Eeek, we're not going to walk to Kabul."
"Fine. I didn't invite you anyway."
"Hold on. They're bound to pick us up soon. We have no food, nothing to drink, no money, as if we had a way to spend it. We may as well go back to Rope Lodge."
"I didn't find Borat the innkeeper back there very accommodating. Is he a friend of yours, too?"
"I've been trying to tell you, I'm not working with them. They forced me to come here, and yes, they told me to hook up with you. I just don't know what else to do," she reasoned lamely.
"Good golly. So, what is this place? Sweeney's private resort?"
They had been trekking down the trail all this time, and found themselves on a ridge.
"Let's go down to that twig and wait," he rumored. "Maybe we can get the jump on them, if the Sweeney dog collars don't see us first. I don't suppose you have a harpoon or anything useful like that on you?"
"What do you think?