John nods in agreement. "Food's always nice--been a real lean winter, but things are turnin' around."

He's got that good stew at home waiting for him as proof of that--but as crazy as the smell of the potluck's making him, the thought of putting anything in his stomach leaves him with a knot that promises pain later if he tries it.

Instead of dwelling, he shuffles forward a half step and offers the man his hand.

"John Rambo, good to meet you."