Larry had been up on the balcony, had come in here to find something light to read over his lunch breaks and had found himself inexplicably drawn to a book of Robert Browning poems on the library's upper level. The slender volume now clutched in one hand, he leaned leisurely over the railing, neck craned to get a look at the man who had just spoken. Larry hadn't clearly heard what had been asked, but the note of bewilderment had been clear enough.

He himself wasn't exactly clean, having spent the better part of his day trimming hedges, but there was a difference in the fresh streaks of brown and green across his t-shirt and the way this new guy's clothes were ragged and stained. It wasn't a look he was unfamiliar with, and his eyebrows drew faintly together in concern.

"You look a little lost," he called down, hunched over forearms leaned against the top rail.