Tim's smiles used to be given freely. He's a little out of practice of late; not much to smile about back home, and hasn't been for a while now. But he's working on them. "Really, a bartender? My sympathies. The London club scene can be brutal on bartenders." He would know. He's spent enough time in it, and slept with his fair share of bartenders.

Clark's wry chuckle and the quoted line pull an answering laugh from Tim, low and warm as he tilts his head, glancing over. "Right, the grammar's a real pain, isn't it? Syntax is a nightmare, and we haven't even gotten to any of the really weird stuff. That's the one, though. I loved that poem. Have ever since university, though I never quite got it until recently." Until he started working in research. Until the Archive. His mood sobers again, and there's a quiet contemplation in his next words.

"Do you recognize any of them? It's silly, I know, but I've been looking for anything, some sign of home, and I just...I don't know, there's nothing."