Ray comes in alone. He eats the same way. People drop by looking for him--some even work up the nerve to approach his table--but he shows up by himself and leaves the same way.
Everything about Ray is trim. He dresses like a businessman on Casual Friday. He's always clean-shaven, hair and fingernails clipped. When he does smoke, which is rarely, it's long, thin, filtered cigarettes.
Ray listens hard and talks in a whisper.
People say he's done time, but when you ask what for, they don't want to comment.
He eats at a table-for-two by the wall. Nobody comes in after him tonight. When he's done, he peels a few bills off a roll from his pocket, then nods to Vy at the register and leaves.
Danny and Phil, a couple of low-level punks, eat at the counter. Once the door swings shut behind Ray, Danny glances over his shoulder.
"I'm only afraid of two people in this world," he says. "God and Ray."
"I don't think God's a person," Phil says.
Danny looks back again, then says, "I'm not sure Ray is, either."
