Strolling closer once more, Bobo considers that. Both the man and the information that holds for him. "Well, you don't look like Doc so I'll assume not at the bottom of a well," he smirks, pausing close to invading personal space.

"There were a few men with accents like yours before things went to Hell. Literally. It was 1881 that year, during the winter. When I died," he says, speaking of it casually as if it means nothing. "It was 2017 when I found myself here. I admit, going back to life like this is kinda culture shock, but I think I can survive. Probably better than most."