The bistro is secluded — homely — tucked away behind the turns and corners of a neighbourhood with too many apartments and too little people, but the vibe it emits is the type he would keep close to his chest. His left index finger is curled around the arm of a cup, warm swirls of a two shot espresso calmly settled amidst the afternoon undertones, while a four day late newspaper is held in the grip of his right hand, neatly folded into the horoscope section. An eyebrow is quirked when something in particular has grasped his attention among the foresights, but he prohibits the amused chuckle from escaping his mouth and instead, he allows a knowing smile to adorn his lips. Yet another surge of subtle mirth has hit him in this lifetime. “Humans. Little do they know, little do they know.”
ℓιкe / яeвℓog aвoυт. aѕк. ι. ιι. ιιι. ιν. ν.
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