It's his third cigarette and he's been sitting there long enough that what was initially a pointed inspection of anyone in or out has turned into casual remove - looking, but not really seeing as he works out some inarticulate puzzle or problem, mentally pursuing questions that aren't going to be answered in a malt shop, all check floor tiles and brightly colored walls. So it takes him a second to realize the words are directed at him.

Rust blinks as he snaps out of it, realizes he's been holding the cigarette more than he is smoking it and takes a long drag to make up for it. Doesn't think before he says, "That would require any days to have been good," and exhales smoke. The vibration of the car passes. "But sure."