You’re hungry, and have nothing to do for the rest of the day. You pull up to a diner, walk in, and sit down on one of the stools at the long counter. You place your order. You take a quick look around the place, when unexpectedly your gaze meets with another’s. Just to your right, you see a man staring at you with one heck of an unreadable expression upon his face.

“That’s a nice car you’ve got. A black 1967 Chevrolet Impala?...” he nods his head lightly. “You know, a car can tell you everything you need to know about a person,” he looks at you with intrigue. He leans in a little.

When you looked upon him, with a quirked brow, he grins and adds, “sorry. I’m Otto Irving,” he placed his hand on his chest. “Car Salesman.” He smiled a little, “I know a lot about cars…” he says a little quieter. He squints his eyes slightly at you… he then extends his hand, nonverbally asking for your name as well.