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"There's that man again, Regan. Look." I viewed up to see the man Shaquanna was referring to. He was the same man who'd been getting into the coffee shop where I proved helpful as a waitress every day. I didn't think anything than it. He was probably new in town or just moving through. He shuffled in and sat down in a booth near to the window. He carried a inexperienced duffel handbag that he fallen on the booth chair next to him. I thought he must be military services because his inexperienced looked Army concern. I took a moment to study him. His medium brown hair was dense and in need of a haircut. Dark stubble marred his jaw, and from this a long way away, I couldn't tell what color his eyes were. "He's sitting down in your section, Regan. As usual." Shaquanna grinned all of a sudden. "Why, I think you have yourself a technique admirer," she said in a artificial southern drawl. She gave the person a closer look. "Your enigma man could critically use a bathtub, shave, and a haircut..."
