"Heck, I'd say sometimes it's good to have a few, especially these days," he mentions, looking the matches over before sliding it into the inside pocket of his jacket. "I'll be sure to check the place out. I'll admit it, I'm kind of a stickler for old memorabilia, obviously," he had a smile for him, like a sardonic little twist of fate.

He was convinced he was the only one who was laughing at the joke. The twist of a joke that was only funny when you knew who he really was. Memorabilia from his old campaign was probably going for a hot dollar right now, while people collected the oddity, like it was something to be marveled at. Pointed at. Like being on display at a zoo.

Now that he was gone, they couldn't get enough of him. He patted at his jacket with his unswollen hand, and gave an apologetic smile to the small crowd waiting.

"Sorry, folks, I think my hand's going to fall off, give me a quick break, and I'll get right with all of you, huh?" he pulled out his lighter and cigarettes, heading for the door. "If you'd like, I'll let you chew my ear off a little bit," he mentioned to the "old friend", giving him a grim smile.

Caught behind it though was a hardness, the cant of his eyebrows, the way his mouth settled, the way his motions were just a hair too hard. Nothing that most would pick up on, but he knew this guy would. He was starting to put it together, and the guy had a fucking distinct face.

It was the alley, he was beelining for, where he could smoke in peace, listening for anything out of the ordinary, and hearing nothing.

He suspected there were no efforts to watch him right now. It was a fucking book signing, not a rally.