This guy's...pretty damn polite. It's not the stranger's fault that he doesn't know what's under the gloves, after all. Jimmy's learned how to brush off and reassure about them, because it's always better than them knowing, but he's also wondering how much he needs to care about this here and now. He probably won't ever see this guy again. --On the other hand, if he can earn enough of this guy's trust to see him again, Jimmy's newly shitty life might get a bit easier. This guy just came out of a bar, and even rinky dink bars sell basic food items. Jimmy would do...a lot of things for food right about now. A lot of X-rated things, some of which are probably still illegal.

Maybe don't think about food. Salivating on this stranger's arm is probably not going to win anyone any favors.

"No problem." It's the first genuine smile Jimmy's conjured up in three days, since the last eventually-aborted conversation he managed to wheedle out of somebody.

The address of his gloves pulls him up short a bit, but his face still doesn't fall all the way. Again, he's really used to this being something he's asked about, and not everyone's so politely joking about pointing it out. Jimmy shrugs and shoves the lighter back in his pocket. Both leathered thumbs are now hooked in his belt loops. "My last stop was Florida. I wish I could just brag and say it's way hotter, but honestly I think it's about the same."