Dixon harrumphs in both agreement and continued disdain for the city. He figures he probably shouldn't complain about it, given that he's been able to scavenge some supplies from the Wawa and comic books from the library, but it's amazing what a knife wound can do for your outlook on the world. The injury in his back seems to radiate cold, and he draws the blanket tighter.

"If you mean falling forever with voices whispering to me, then yeah. I just came in weeks ago. Maybe a month, I'm not sure." He looks a little unsettled by that thought. It's hard to keep track of time here, what with everyone starting on different days of the week if they go by Roman calendar at all and without the structure of a workweek. Dixon's watch works, which divides up the hours into something manageable, but somehow in this place it's easier to lose days than it is to lose minutes.

"We keep getting attacked by things, so you look like you'll have your work cut out for you." Dixon makes a 'follow me' gesture with his hand. Most of the group is congealed in the nooks and crannies of the library like mud in sidewalk cracks. But he doesn't go particularly fast as he heads in that direction, instead ambling.