The people are still kinda... disengaged, which Jeremy doesn't notice at first-- he has other shit on his mind-- but eventually his instincts for a crowd start to kick in. Even on the busiest weekend in Vegas-- or the deadest-- crowds have a feel to them, and you can catch people's eye, or rather, you can catch some people's eyes, the tourists, the ones eager to be entertained. The natives slide past you, they have places to be and they don't want your timeshare offer.

This is just... weird. All around. The people meet his eyes but move right past with pleasant smiles and head-ducks.

He goes so far to start asking some for change, because that's the definite way to make everyone else start skirting you and avoiding eye contact, but it makes no difference. They all react the same way.

He's feeling definitely kind of creeped out by the time he runs into the tall, pale young man who is very present in a way the others are not. Thanks to Metody, he has clothes now-- infinite, infinite thanks to Metody, long life to her, health to her belly button, and every other weird blessing he remembers his grandma giving as a kid-- so there's that, at least.

He stops, blinking at the question, blinking at what should be a familiar sight, because he sees busking musicians every single day and is one some of the time himself. Here, it's like a quote taken out of context.

"Yeah," he says after a beat, "Home Sweet Home. Sweet Home Alabama. Take Me Home Tonight. Any combination's cool."