The grimy doors swing open with a creak, and his boots sound over the tile. Jean walks to the familiar booth, helmet tucked under his arm, water dripping from his hair onto the tiled floor. He slides in and throws his keys and wallet on the table, not bothering to look at the menu.

He pulls the pack of Marlboro's out of his pocket and plucks a cigarette out. Flicking his lighter to life, he cups his hand around the end and inhales the smoke. Serenity washes over him, but it's squashed by the squeak of gross sneakers approaching his table.