[he drums his fingers against his glass, something in her introduction having caught his attention. (Dulcinea? wasn't that the name of the peasant girl in Don Quixote? never mind the fact that she seems to be Italian, rather than Spanish) he lets it go before too long, looking away, over his shoulder at the rest of the bar, briefly]

[when he looks back to her, he admits, agrees:] It was almost blinding. [the white] Of course, I was in the middle of Chicago in a blackout, so. Take that with a grain of salt. [anything might have seemed blinding]