Bars have never really been Mark's style. It's not the debauchery that bothers him. (Actually, he finds the debauchery kind of interesting to watch, the only thing remotely close to a mating ritual that humans seem to have. You could film that shit and watch it as a documentary, probably.) It's just that there is so very little to do at a bar aside from drink the health of his liver away, and Mark, well, he prefers something a bit more substantial. Having a burger with his beer, for instance. There have been times when he's gone to bars and clubs just for the sake of the ambiance, the cool factor, but Sean Parker's not here and Mark doubts besides that any bar on a relatively uninhabited island within a pocket dimension would be up to par on 'cool,' besides. Unless he's planning on getting hammered (it'll probably happen at some point), the restaurant's the way to go.

Still fumbling around with his pockets, the grapefruit awkwardly caught between rib and arm with the laptop propping it up, a near slip of the computer is enough reason for Mark to finally free one hand to keep track of all his things. He wishes he had his messenger bag. Truth be told, though, it wouldn't even matter terribly much if the laptop dropped on the ground. He's been working on code through a remote connection, backing it up every couple of minutes automatically. The lack of worry to that effect is what has him still smiling, a little more relaxed this time, as his gaze drops with another nod, those that are common for Mark as he sorts through his thoughts.

"Does that place serve burgers?" he asks, slightly hopeful.