"Fuck fashion week, friend, comfort and-or band t-shirts all the way." She carefully doesn't mention how comforting it is to see him in flannel, actually. That's Jeff's uniform, practically. And if she doesn't look at his face too closely--and if she ignores the hat--she can almost pretend she's walking parallel to him instead of a stranger.

"Virginia. Little suburb near DC, which makes all this snow confusing as fuck." She blinks. "Right, where the hell are we?"