"All old westerns are by that gauge," he said, smile curling as he cleared off the rest of his plate. TV was one of the things that had gotten him through some shit when he was a kid; they were predictable, most of the time, mostly all carrying the same tone under the 70's grade haze that films had around the edges of the (normally) Spanish countryside it was all shot in.

The edges of his smile fell a little before curling down with a little shake of his head as he pushes his last uneat fries around. The lapse in conversation, however brief, wasn't silent - the crickets were out and there was a breeze that rustled the trees, the sound carrying with the soft buzz of natural white noise.

"There's no controllin' that kinda thing, so there's no need to be sorry. I spent the first week an' a half thinking that I had fully lost my mind. Gone sideways in the head like Arlo has. Like.. maybe I'd made you and Mathis and Jeff and-" Malcolm, Doc, Neal, Klaus. The first two in that list broke his heart more than he could stand to say and he hadn't so much as said their names aloud since returning.

"But I decided that even my imagination couldn't be that creative and vivid. Hurt too much to think that it wasn't real so after a while.." Raylan shrugged. Maybe he'd succumbed. But this was Athena and Raylan wasn't going to sugarcoat or bottle up this.

"You're here now. Confirmation that I'm not. Hell darlin', it's like Christmas."