Foggy's eyebrows draw together. The non-sequitur has him literally scratching his head, watching as John begins picking through shelves like he's got a strange grocery list in mind. It causes Foggy to follow along, fussing with the recovered wallet as he tries to understand what he's gotten himself into.
"It's pretty old, I guess," he agrees, wondering if there's a secondary market that prefers new items to old. Is that why this matters? It's stupid he has to think about this at all — stupid because he remembers a life where this might matter, but so much less than it does here, where people have to regularly steal to survive.
He straightens something on the shelf behind John, compulsively righting things so no one else has to come along and do it later.
"My ID's got my name: Franklin Nelson. I go by Foggy, though, if you need to find me here," he adds, expecting this won't be a scenario where this man opens his jacket and reveals rows of wallets for resale, one of which would include his own. No, he's not that lucky, although he may have just found the one person around who can help him. "What's yours?"
no subject
"It's pretty old, I guess," he agrees, wondering if there's a secondary market that prefers new items to old. Is that why this matters? It's stupid he has to think about this at all — stupid because he remembers a life where this might matter, but so much less than it does here, where people have to regularly steal to survive.
He straightens something on the shelf behind John, compulsively righting things so no one else has to come along and do it later.
"My ID's got my name: Franklin Nelson. I go by Foggy, though, if you need to find me here," he adds, expecting this won't be a scenario where this man opens his jacket and reveals rows of wallets for resale, one of which would include his own. No, he's not that lucky, although he may have just found the one person around who can help him. "What's yours?"