[ Ray's hand flutters to his chest in a vaguely pearl-clutchy motion, a reflex mostly born out of his surprise to hear Christmas spoken about so dismissively, because you can take the boy out of the Bible belt, but... well, some thirty years later Ray still hasn't entirely unlearned that repressive Evangelical upbringing, though certainly (mostly) not for lack of trying. ]

Um... [ He blinks, but then shakes his head to make himself focus again. ] Right, and I'm sure there are, but I know I don't hate myself enough to take up a job down the department store right before Christmas. Sweet Jesus what a nightmare that would be...

[ It's enough to make him shudder to think of it, almost, but Ray knows he'll still have to give in to something sooner rather than later if he wants to keep food in the fridge and on the table. No one to worry about getting gifts for at least, but that's not much of a bright side.

Ray nods, tossing his cigarette down and crushing it under the tip of his cane into the snow, before he glances around and points with his thumb toward the Santa's Workshop building. ]

Bet you that place has got somewhere to sit down that ain't all wet with ice, too. I know they got a gift stop, anyway.