The diner is pleasant enough for a place as neglected as Martinaise.

It's 7AM, and people have arrived for breakfast. A particularly rowdy group of workers makes a tired groan escape Jean, who sits hunched over at a table you stand beside. The blonde wig he insisted on wearing hangs over his face, his sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

You know his unease isn't only from the volume so early in the morning. No, it's the ordeal you're waiting to have with Du Bois.