The anxious fidgeting somehow makes the sense of familiarity recede even further, as though whatever he's being reminded of doesn't fit with what he's seeing in front of him, like mismatched puzzle pieces. Edgar shrugs, and returns his attention to watching the tracks where the train should appear soon, with a little divided for the unraveling string in his fingers.

After a moment, he offers a bit awkwardly: "'S not so bad, the ride. And the spring's worth it."