[That's okay, he doesn't know the proportions either. Just throw it all in a glass and knock it back, baby! Clint slumps against the bar and begins the futile effort of trying to brush sand off himself. While slumped. So it's a half-hearted attempt at best.]

You like sweet things. You are not yourself sweet. You're very bitter. Black coffee sitting overnight.

...You didn't disagree about hating each other. But I don't think you hate me.