Abigail stood alone at the edge of DUMBO's nearby promenade at John Street Park, her leather jacket unzipped and blowing faintly in the day's gentle breeze. The East River calmly flowed just ahead, catching the rays of the afternoon sun. It was around noon, and Abigail was staring out at the water - likely daydreaming or thinking on something. Abigail was so lost in her trance that when footsteps began approaching from her right, she only shifted her weight slightly and lit a cigarette that she took out of her pocket, flicking the lighter as if it was rehearsed. The breeze flipped through her hair, and the hum of distant traffic buzzed behind. Her eyes were piercing, sharp-edged and fixated on Manhattan, which was on the horizon.

When the approaching footsteps slowed as they drew near, Abigail didn't turn. Her voice alone cut through the quiet stillness of the Wednesday morning. "You here for small talk, or are we just sharing the silence?" The words carried the same cool rhythm as the tide - unbothered, but not unwelcoming. Her eyes stayed fixated on the skyline across the river, the cigarette burning between the pointer and middle fingers of her right hand. There was a brief pause, then she spoke a bit softer, as if afraid she came off too rude or strong. "Either way, don't make it weird. I'm in a good mood, believe it or not."