Tim utters a tiny, darkly amused snort, relaxing fractionally in the slight release of dry humor.

"Probably not. He doesn't really go out either." Though he's pretty sure no one would forget him, the way he lugs cameras around wherever he goes. He hovers one hand in front of his eye, a loosely cupped vertical arc - a camera in pantomime. "Jay. Hauls a camera around. Films everything." The hand drops. "He's a paranoid bastard, what can I say."

Not to say that Tim isn't. He's just a little better at not broadcasting it, usually. He's been doing a miserable job of it so far here, but his dreams have never built themselves into a forgiving landscape.