[Despite the discussion being about, well, "wrestling", the statement stuns him in the best way. He stares a bit too long at Anthony before finally, with a blush, he puts his sherbet aside and composes himself. It's all the usual fidgeting tells, straightening his clothes, tugging at hems, rearranging his dishes.]

[How do you know, Anthony? How are you so sure? How do you know we aren't just letting these memories reroute the course of our lives and losing track of the now? ...And why do I have so much faith that you're right?]

I suppose then we'd have to call it a draw. Not really a win if we both allow the outcome. But...win, lose, or draw, I think we may just be on the same team.

Anyway. Well. ...Do try to at least find a clean pair of underpants if you decide to go scandalize and tempt your patrons for tips. Lemon sherbet is hardly an excuse.