He usually avoids the ubiquitous coffee chains, but he likes the view from this one, especially if he can get this end booth. He's been taking his lunch here for about six months now, enjoying the bland familiarity of the piped muzak and grey coffee, looking out over the park. The sun's shining so there's plenty of people to watch. That's where he feels comfortable, at the edges, taking it all in.
As the steam from the coffee rises to fill his nostrils, he's dimly aware of somebody else occupying his booth.
“Why does The Forest hate us, Corvus?”
