And now the dude on the horse is staring at him. McCoy has to resist the urge to look down and see if he's got any stains on his t-shirt or if there's a huge embarrassing hole in his pants. He just puts his hands on his hips and stares back, because he's not going to get stared at and not give it back.

"Sorry?" he calls back, eyebrows lifting. "I look like someone you knew back home?" That's ... weird. Judging from his clothing and bearing, he's not from the Atlanta area - at least, not in any time it was called Atlanta.