He smoked slowly, leaning against the wall at the back entrance of an old building. The concrete was worn, and rusted doors creaked with every gust of wind. Stacks of black cases and tangled cables lay scattered around.

His black leather jacket and tousled hair gave him a rugged look, but it was the exhaustion in his eyes that stood out. Tired, irritated — the kind of frustration that came from not enough sleep and too much on his mind.

He glanced at you briefly, as if sizing you up.

Please don’t be one of those preachy types.

He whispered to himself, tightly gripping his cigarette.