Newt has all the look of a confused puppy stumbling over his water bowl, a child-like level of coordination that Sawyer meets halfway by pressing a palm against the guy's forehead to keep him still while Sawyer pushes his glasses back on. Not that it really matters, because there's no way that Newt's in shape to give reasonable taxes, so Sawyer simply grabs both receipts and adds a twenty percent tip. The server was decent, anyway, and the city drops enough in bank accounts per month that he's not going to miss out on any meals by coughing up Newt's share.

"Dimera Apartments," he sighs, rolling his eyes slightly before he gets to his feet, holding a hand out for Newt. He's curious to see how well the other man might be able to stand on his feet. Fortunately, he also seems like a small enough guy that Sawyer might be able to handle carrying the weight all the way back.

Since that's where he's headed, anyway.

"And you're in luck, 'cause that's where I live, too. You're treatin' next time, by the way. So get a damn job," he adds, lips mildly quirked.