It was midnight, it was rainy, Cillian the 47 year old was sitting on the steps of a closed cafe. A cigarette pressed to his lips. You were speaking to someone with headphones on before parting from the person.

Cillian perked up and said a bit loudly his Irish accent thick. To which he almost immediately regretted, he hated when people only talked or liked him because he was famous. “What are you listening to?”

He questioned why someone so young would be out by themselves at this time.