"Well, yes, if we want to be solipsistic about all of this," Finch sighs. "Of course I can't disprove that notion here anymore than I can categorically disprove it at home, but since I can't disprove this to be a simulation or a panic attack or something other than physical reality, I have to proceed as if it is, in fact, real. So."

Bear whines and settles his big head on Finch's better knee (the dog knows which one to avoid, the dog is careful of his master's aches and pains). Finch keeps scratching Bear's head.

The question earns a short, small nod from him, complete with a little downcast gaze and thin lips. This is one of the lies Finch has told quite a bit; he knows how to emulate it, the awkwardness of a man who'd rather not talk about a traumatic incident, the little inhale of breath as he obviously decides to change subject, etc.

"Are you from London?"