Arty doesn’t notice Abel’s there until he speaks, but even so doesn’t seem startled by his presence. She just returns the “hey,” and nods. The smile isn’t returned, but Arty’s not looking particularly grouchy, at least, just neutral.
Now she’s actually looking at Abel, trying to recall who he said he was earlier—he’s definitely part of their group; she remembers him introducing himself to everyone but not his name or what he does for a living, argh—and, subsequently failing that, trying to latch onto any details about him that might help jog her memory. Really his height was what stuck out the most. He wasn’t as bad as the “robot,” but seriously, how many people here were going to be over six feet tall? Anything over five-foot-ten was strictly unnecessary, in her opinion. (And why couldn’t she be that tall?)
The other thing that sticks out about him is his generally professional look. He looks like what Arty imagines college students look like. But if he’d said he was a student, she would have remembered—it would have meant she had at least one thing in common with someone here. So, yeah. Her useless brain, everyone: better at remembering what she doesn’t know than what she does know.
Somehow embarrassed at not being able to figure out this guy’s entire deal just by looking at him (or just as likely by the fact that she’s been staring at him for a good bit now), Arty turns her head away from him to nod in the direction of the train tracks. “Just tryna see where they lead. You didn’t startle me. So uh, don’t worry.”
