Drebin sits in his self-driving car holding his twelth cup of coffee of the day. He hadn't finished the last eleven, but the act of replacing them, whenever offered, was something that came naturally to him. He didn't need to take more than a few sips; It was mostly about holding the disposable cup in his hand. The familiar weight, hot cardboard under his fingertips. After his divorce, It was about the only warmth he could get in his life.

He grimaces, fighting the urge to stress eat.