[He catches it, and then looks at it strangely. Something seems a little odd there, but he's willing to let it slide with everything else.] It is like the rest of the world. My country was torn apart by a civil war. I was a soldier before I had ever even kissed my first girl. I know how to handle large arms before most American boys are learning how to drive. No one should grow up around mutilated corpses and worry about bombs dropping on their heads in the night.

But I go to America, and there is just debt and ignorance. People so obsessed with looking nice that they do not notice the homeless around them. Where it is easy for someone to die but people to go on around them smiling and not notice they were there. At home, the communists take our money and keep us poor. In America, it is the capitalists.

[Niko's views are harsh, and he can't keep the bitter edge out of his voice. But- he's far from home. Further from home than he's ever been before.]

...I grew up on a farm, in the mountains. It was cold there, it snowed a lot and there were tall trees. You could see all of the stars, and most of the food was meats and cheese and bread. Not hot things. And we do big celebrations with our families. Wedding receptions last for three days and everyone gets drunk together.

Maybe it's not all so bad.

[Someone who doesn't know anything about Europe can maybe appreciate that.]