There's a low chortle as he riles the little sport up, lipstick staining his upper teeth as he bites back something louder; more disruptive. He raises a palm in surrender, backing up a step to show that he had no intention of trying again. "A funny one, I hope—!" He snickered.

"How about this. . ." Letting the camera danger from the strap around his neck, Peter fishes through his laptop bag. "You sign a consent form so I can use these photos of you," this guy seems like he wouldn't mind the attention. "And I'll listen to as many jokes as you want."