It was handwritten, detailed notes in a book about his prior life that were easier for Bucky. Doing it helped log the occasionally random memory flash or information he gathered, which was often looked at with hopes of remembering something more. But each person was different.

Bucky throws a shoulder up in a half shrug. There was no sense in worrying about it. As long as there wasn't another war he was sure the arm would hold up. And if there was a maintenance room somewhere in the mix, there was a good chance he might find some hex keys to ensure full function.

"Bucky Barnes," he pulls both hands out of his pocket but offers his right. "I appreciate the information. I'm mostly looking for tools, maybe hex keys, gear oil, that kind of thing."