[One of the benefits of having done years in journalism - even if some might raise an eyebrow at calling 'writing about food' journalism - is that chitchat comes easily even when his brain is spinning in three or four other directions at the same time. Years doing interviews and more years manning the radio alongside Jack, and the rhythm of conversation, questions and observations and quips, comes easily. He usually tries not to think about how remarkably easily it comes with Felix, in particular, even if he's a far cry from Jack's bright, quick counterpoint.

He thinks he shouldn't compare the two of them. He thinks that Jack, also, should probably stop comparing himself and Felix. Especially in that sly, encouraging way he's been doing it for awhile now, most recently peppered with sharp points of exasperation when Eugene unconvincingly tries to feint or change the topic.

Which is stupid, he's been telling himself, almost all the way up until he left to meet Felix at tonight's bar. He's fine with what this is, he keeps telling himself, because the answer is always a possible no, and Felix is a good friend regardless of whatever crazy idea Jack's nursing along and enabling. He's fine.

Whatever this is.]

You know- [It comes after a lull in the conversation, when there's room for a wry observation, a perfectly neutral rollout of an idea before he dares pose any kind of real question.] We've hit up at least one bar at every system we've been at for awhile now. Jack says we're practically dating.