Lobsang hadn't had this much fun (of the normal, "we're just hanging out" sort) with someone roughly his own age since he'd left Morkpork that first time. (Part of him had just never had this kind of fun.) The electronics store had been fascinating, maybe even worryingly so, and he was still mulling over the curious (ridiculous) things here that didn't run on imps when Tim returned with his - very green - purchase.
... Yeah, he wasn't going to ask.
They headed off for the Tim's bakery. Talking to Tim was like being back in school again, which was just odd. Not bad, odd. It almost felt like they should be picking window locks while dangerous distances above the ground, whispering and laughing just shy of too loudly. Or waiting to Approach helpful passersby walking too near the Shades (the Shades, the Shades - he was forgetting something...) when a hundred things to say popped into your head just when you were suppose to be all professional-like. Usually, you couldn't achieve this level of chattering wordflow unless you'd been explicitly told to pay attention and be quiet.
He and Tim weren't being very quiet, but there was no glaring instructor, no need to whisper. Maybe Lobsang should have been paying attention anyway.