She gives him another sideways glance, never fully facing him, and then she smiles, almost skeptically.

"I have music in my step."

Maybe sometimes.

"Thanks for the compliment, Mister Saxophone."

One of her hands closes around the pack of cigarettes sharing that pocket, and she takes a second, hardly pausing, to get one out and light it, the flick of her lighter providing a moment's worth of warmth against her face.

"Where were you born?"

It's not as random a question as it seems.