. The sun had barely rose when the cafe was hustling and bustling in its’ usual way. A line was forming out the door, as girls with tied hair and aprons ran to brew and dress enough coffee for an army. Damien sat in the corner, at a dark booth with leather seats. He leaned on the pinewood siding, his head resting below a clock that was permanently fixed on eleven-thirty-two. Sipping his black coffee, Damien observed silently. The baristas were pouring amber steaming coffee from steel pots to plastic cups. Writers sat curled at the fire-place, soaking the heat with round glasses and laptop. Booming with chatter, reeking of coffee and cream, the tables behind him shouted and laughed. Damien chuckled. The blonde he was, things like that never bothered him. He himself was tempted to join in, and laugh. Perhaps he would joke. But thinking twice, he decided he wouldn’t. All he could think of were puns. And, really, no one told dad jokes unless they wanted to break the noise, and incite a groan in the crowd. Being no man to break the noise, he sat quiet. He took a sip of coffee. The sun shone through the drapes, catching Damien’s gold hair and glimmering off his white-button up. His eyes shone like ice and he smiled a pearly smile.