A damn shame, indeed. Strangely enough, he could handle the idea of being stranded indefinitely in this desert paradise, but not the fact that his beloved car was, for all intents and purposes, dead.
Lucien shook his head in reply, smile never wavering as he gestured to his own nose before relinquishing the cigarette. "Mais non, looks lahk you need it. Somebody pass' you a slap, f'true." The bandage covering the man's nose didn't quite conceal all of the dark, mottled bruising beneath it. Lucien had nursed a broken nose of his own once, and he knew the injury tended to look worse than it really was: a painful, if temporary blemish on an otherwise pretty face. A very pretty face, in fact.
With the cigarette successfully transferred, Lucien pulled another piece of rolling paper from the baggie on the curb beside him and set about preparing one for himself. He considered Charlie's remark for a few moments; how could it be so unusual not to recognize a guest in a place of this size? That kind of familiarity came with either time or repeated exposure, not just a passing glance. The strange niggling in the back of his mind flared up again, and it began to dawn on him that perhaps he wasn't the only visitor overstaying his welcome in this place.
Then again, he was probably way overthinking things. If nothing else, it could have just been a thinly veiled come-on.
"Been heah a coupla days," he finally answered, his smile becoming suddenly wry. "Prob'ly be heah a couple mo', whet'er I lahk it o' not. How 'bout you?"