As the man narrated to him the facts that he may or may not be aware of only a few moments ago, Eugenides has entertained himself with the tiny fork he'd brought along with him from the other table, smudged a little by its head with the blueberry filling. He made no physical reaction at the mention of law enforcement, holding the fork upright as though to study by the very end of its handle as he was given a background about the fruits of the place, and smiled back when he was smiled upon.

When the waitress arrived to interrupt them, she asked him, more kindly now that he'd moved tables, "You haven't touched your coffee at all, Sir. Would you like to have something else?"

"Can I have milk?" he asked, laying again the question out there in the open. He said nothing with the woman wore her silence, nodded, and went away to retrieve their orders.

With the time it took for the man to finish his response, Eugenides adjusted his grip on his fork, scooped a small portion of his cobbler and slid it very neatly into his mouth. He observed that the tips were clean before he used it to gesture at his companion.

"In other words, this city is sentient," he said to summarize. "It has good and bad people, good and bad foods and the buildings move when you aren't looking. What's it called, again?" Because as far as Gen was concerned, he didn't start with that.