Junior looks down at their entwined arms for a moment, as if trying to process the sudden and unexpected familiarity, but manages to stop himself from saying anything unfortunate.<br/><br/>"You're in luck, then.  Mister Saturday's has good wings.  I mean<em>good</em>wings.  But you have to know what to order, 'cause most of what they have is strictly for the out-of-towners looking for a wannabe hookup with the goth muppets and pseudoposeurs."<br/><br/>He manages a tight grin.<br/><br/>"The so-called Five-alarm Cajun Fire Wings?  Not so hot as the name sounds, but what's some snowbird from Wyoming know about Cajun?  Go for the sweet-and-spicy.  It's a little bit Asian, but those little red peppers...whooo-ee!"