[ She can feel him looking at her, watching, and a part of her wants to curl up and hide. She doesn't like feeling as if she's being examined. Noticed. Picked out from a crowd. He isn't analyzing or trying to take notes for some mental profile of her. At least, she doesn't think he is.

Her gaze drifts to the side.

« He almost sounds like the other Alan. The one that called us trying to find his Jesse. Not that Alan here is mine... or ours... you know what I mean. Do I really have him? Or, am I just here for role in the story? Some sort of place holder for someone else? » ]

She's subtle. She never directly... tells you. Just, points you in a direction. [ Jesse shifts again, rolling a bit more in on herself. Fingers curl into her arms more. Defensive. Afraid. When people get too close they get scared and run away from her.

« They can't handle the room without the poster. I know the other Alan said it... and he knows... and said I should tell the Alan we know, but... » ]

How do you feel? [ She is hesitant in how she asks. Timid. Things she isn't. ] I don't... [ A pause, ] A rock band from the seventies wrote about you. This story. You and your wife. There's... there's really not a place for me in that. I don't want to break things. Get in between things.