“Well, well, look who we got here.”

Constantine looks on with a sharp, slightly suspicious, glare. A cigarette smolders between his fingers, which gets settled in his mouth. The smoke curls into the air, leaving a thin haze around him. He‘s disheveled, but he always looks that way. He disrupts the brief silence.

“Hey, are you going stand there or what? You called, I answered. So, do I get to know why? Or am I going to regret coming all the way here when I could be doing better things?”