Steve nodded. "It's easy enough to fake in casual conversation, usually, which is all I really need to do to get by, but seeing all the changes..." he shook his head. "It all just adds up, until suddenly I'm back in Times Square, with Fury telling me I've been gone for 70 years. I know I'll get used to it..." he looked down at the piece of sandwich he was currently holding. "Somedays - a lot of days, honestly - I just don't want to have to. It's weird, the things I miss. Big cars with real fenders, rounded wheel wells that jutted out, hand cranks. Women in skirts, with their hair coiffed, or down in pin curls, but always looking put together. Even the clothes that are the same, aren't the same, the styles and cuts are different, the material and colors. And people show a lot more skin than I'm used to."

He glanced at her with an apologetic look. "Sorry. I'm an artist, I was trained to notice things like that - and now I can't stop noticing them." Wow, he was depressing himself; and after they'd been doing so well, so far, keeping the conversation light and fun. Way to ruin the mood, Rogers.