It's less joking about his emotional state and more like I-almost-got-mauled-to-death-by-a-mutant-crocodile-man-and-it's-still-kind-of-painful-because-I'm-literally-made-of-bones-and-magic-and-basketball-shorts-and-that's-about-it.

You could have just asked that in the first place, doc. Sans signs with a small smirk. Regardless, he reaches over and picks up the case to set on his lap - slowly, gingerly, and efforted. He then takes the guitar out of its place and leans against the back of his seat, slowly strumming in place.

"You get used to it, I guess. The place changes around enough, sure, but I've re-found this place a few times already now."