Phoenix looked across the table flatly as he ate, expression very clearly communicating a resentful 'you bastard, you're starting to enjoy this.'

"Right, just let me finish this," he muttered, tucking away the last of the steak. As he finished, he patted his pocket instinctively, almost at the same time remembering that a wallet wasn't going to be there. Nonetheless, he went through the pouch of his sweatshirt. Nothing but a journal, a pen, coupons, and a muffin in a paper bag. Not exactly currency by any stretch of the imagination. He pulled out the little coupon booklet, tugging free the voucher for the Twin Pines meal. "Not tipping just feels wrong," he muttered unhappily, putting the edge of the slip of paper under a convenient salt shaker. He'd never really been a big tipper, and he'd certainly not-tipped before, but that was in circumstances where the service had been terrible or he suspected that the meal he'd just eaten might kill him within a day. But here, the waitress seemed like a nice person, and the service had been prompt and the food good, even though everyone there must have known they were two of the crazies from up the road who'd just drop a coupon on the table and leave.

Phoenix wasn't accustomed to being dependent upon charity, and he couldn't say he liked the feeling much.