"And you're Lobsang." Tim grasped his hand once and then turned toward the exit, gesturing with a grin to follow.
"Not so much! Not these days, anyway," he related over his shoulder, navigating the crowd with the ease of a born city boy. They came out into the grey-red aboveground light without mishap, and he slowed a step to walk side-by-side.
Main Street was as packed as ever. The billboard ads reached into most of the visible sky, glaring neon at each other across forty stories' worth of smarmy slogans and bright tricolor. Six old ladies and a hotdog cart brushed past them on the right just in time to almost push them off the curb and into a horse-drawn carriage rattling down the street.
"Welcome to Gotham," he added, possibly a little wry.