The man was hunched over his table at the café's patio, a cheap cigarette burning out in one hand and the other cradling his forehead as he stared into his coffee.

He looked tired. More than that, he looked like he was waiting for a date with the Reaper. No whimsy, no longing, no introspection.

Just a quiet understanding of his situation, alone at a café he had never been to, drinking bad coffee while his cigarette sat forgotten between his fingers.