"Far out," Tim agrees. He hasn't even seen the card, but he sighs that as he's reaching for it and turning it over in his hand. It's too close proximity to have his eyes walk over to the collection of the past life laid out before them. Tim will just have to make do with the memory of the portrait, the Pink card. One is likely family, one is business.

Which is which is up in the fucking air.

He's been too quiet for too long, and though he's been looking at the ad he hasn't been looking at the ad. Tim blinks, refocuses, asks, "Uh, what year is it back in your... home?"

Appropriately befuddled. He thinks.