He adjusts his red leather jacket, ensuring it allows him better access to the cigarette in his pocket. “Are you standing here because you want to talk to me?” he asks, his voice dropping in volume enough for both of you to hear. “Is it about the club?” he emphasizes, a hint of a smirk forming. “Or maybe you’re interested in buying some soap?” With a confident stance, he places the cigarette in his mouth and folds his arms, leaning against the concrete wall.