The teenage boy holding a cola float and a plate of french fries tilts his head at the question as he considers it.

"I guess," he says, with a shrug that draws up the sides of his white poncho to reveal the edges of his slightly cropped white t-shirt underneath. He pops the straw of his drink into his mouth and sips, looking John over with the mildest of curiosity.

He plops himself onto a diner stool at the countertop and sets his lunch down.

"Cool eyes," Alec adds, like an afterthought.