"Tell that to the teenagers," he says. "They think anyone over twenty-five is outta touch."

Shifting on his seat, he offers his hand to the woman, figuring if he's going to talk to her and not turn it into some sad attempt at picking her up, he might as well know her name. Not that he wouldn't introduce himself if he was going to turn it into a sad attempt at picking her up, but he'd probably be talking less about being out of touch if that were the case.

"Jim Hopper," he says.