"Yeah? Yeah. Good." Stan leans back, rubbing his hands and looking for something to say to that. For something to say at all, really, that ain't along the lines of, 'fine for a guy who apparently had a real fuckin' reason to cut the back of his head open and stick a fucking metal plate in there' but he don't want to ask about that, he don't want to know. Not right now, not tonight. "So, uh. Is this really how you want to celebrate? Just sit here and eat a burger? Nothin' wild or crazy?"