He was sitting at a table by himself in the cafeteria, scraping the inside of a pie-tin with a plastic fork. He finished, and flipped through his tattered Star Wars novel and stood up. Lifting up the back of his black t-shirt, he crammed his folded umbrella into his back pocket, did an about-face, and— in what seemed the same moment of motion—placed a pair of wire-framed sunglasses on his nose. Later, I see him again, still wearing his sunglasses and stepping out of the convenience shop; he returned victorious: whistling, and carrying a bag full of Cheetos.