Tim's on his way out after the year's end (for a given value of "end") before some stupid piece of his brain latches onto a memory of a face that looked much more earnest and open than it does now. He remembers her. She was younger then, and he was too, but he recognizes her well enough.

He should mind his own damn business. But, hey - new year, right? Maybe time to turn over a new leaf, be charitable?

Yeah, like that's gonna happen.

Still, he stops, standing awkwardly just a few feet away, one hand creeping up to finger the edge of his sleeve nervously before he bites the bullet, just ups and says, slowly, "you, uh...you okay?"