A man sat by a window in a cafe. He wasn’t old, but that’s the easiest way to describe him and save time. When I walked by he was reading and smoking apathetically; letting the cigarette sit in his lips limply just for comfort. The reflection of the window showed a city with scarred history, like any worthwhile city, and it was a veil over his face when he looked at me, just as everything he wore, including that quick frown and those wiry eyebrows. I didn’t know him when I called out to him, I just wanted to see his eyes, and I immediately regretted it.