Boyd kept his cool in the face of what he could only describe as utter lunacy. An island with dinosaurs? The Kentucky native would not ask, would not prod, would not encourage. Instead he contemplated his own drink before savoring the flavor of old wood and smoke that went down smooth.
"Well ain't that something," he said. "Perhaps I ought to get a look around if I'm truly to be stranded here."
Boyd had a voice. It wasn't just the slow as molasses rhythm of his southern accent. There was a power to them, like a preacher's voice, that sometimes lead the weaker willed to simply follow whatever he said.
"Why thank you friend for the company, but it's probably best that I be on my way."
He moved slowly as to not to attract further ire, reaching slowly for his wallet to pay the tab. Once he did, Boyd noticed his Kentucky driver's license had been replaced with new identification and things weren't not quite as he'd left them.