[ His pizza has seen its last moments of life outside of someone's internal organs. Alas. Daryl makes performative efforts to clean his hands and face, though it doesn't so much besides move some warmth-loosened grime around. Distantly, he considers getting up to order something else, as he doesn't know when he'll next get the opportunity, and meanwhile takes a moment to consider the young woman who's still taking time out of her day to judge him while her own food gets cold.

For the first time, it occurs to him that her raggedy appearance isn't the norm, here. To preoccupied with food, and the old, ingrained habit of being dismissive of critique by strangers. ]

Anymore, huh. [ He puts the soiled napkins onto his empty plate. ] That how it's gone for you? That why you ain't got new clothes neither?

[ He nods at the chair opposite him. ] C'mon. We'll both look less weird if you sit down.

[ It's one thing to politely ignore one weirdo, it's another to expect the trickle of ordinary civilians not to stare at something that looks like it could erupt into Making A Scene at any second. ]