"Nothing lady, it's just not in a bun or something respectable for Eyre, huh." Ben didn't really care either way, he liked how she looked, sort of quirky. If he could remember to make decisions about his clothes when he woke up in the morning perhaps his might be the same, but he was just too lazy.
"You wish Tiny! You don't know what this stomach can take!" He patted his "belly" which considering the amount of beer he fed into it, was a washboard, but that had far more to do with the fact he hated cooking and so avoided eating until he was actually hungry. Unless cake was involved, that is. Ben was nice, until he was sarcastic, though the people that understood sarcasm were the ones he liked to be with anyway, so it didn't matter to him. He just was.
Watching the waitress wander off to get their drinks, Ben got to work dismantling his napkin on the table while looking at Tiny. "What's it you do again, writing poems?" Okay, subtlety or memory weren't his strong points.