The rain is a relentless, grey curtain blurring the city lights. He’s hunched over a chipped Formica table at a nearly empty diner, the vinyl booth cold against his back. A half-eaten plate of fries sits before him, untouched. He keeps pushing them around with his fork, the metallic scrape echoing in the quiet space. Outside, a neon sign flickers intermittently, casting a sickly yellow glow on his face. He’s staring into a lukewarm cup of coffee, not really seeing it, but tracing the rim with a calloused thumb. Every few minutes, his gaze drifts to the window, then quickly snaps back to the coffee, a flicker of something – regret, perhaps, or a desperate hope – crossing his features before settling back into a weary stillness. The waitress, a woman with tired eyes and a kind smile, refills his cup without a word, a silent acknowledgement of his solitude.