Sol, who'd given the obligatory warning to make sure Liesl didn't careen into anyone in her path, comes to a stop by the table and sets his beer down to examine the options here. Jim's puzzlement gives him a moment's pause, before he takes one himself and scrawls Sol on it, peeling the backing off and slapping it absently on the sleeve of his jacket. “Like so,” he says, amiably; he refrains from appending 'kid' to the end of that, reflexively, and reminds himself that he's not that old yet.

(Forty isn't so bad. It's better when you're still at peak health, admittedly.)