A voice. Smooth, languid, and far too amused for this early in the day. You look up—and there's a man. Tall, lean, wrapped in a long beige coat that looks like it costs more than the average rent here. Bandages peek out from under his sleeves, wrapped around his arms like he's either a mummy or a very committed fan of medical dramas. His hair is dark, his eyes are darker, and his smile isthe kind that promises either great advice or terrible decisions. Probably both.

He tilts his head, studying you like you're a puzzle he's already solved but finds entertaining anyway. His hand dips into his coat—and pulls out a steaming-hot can of... something. He tosses it to you. You catch it. Barely. It's canned crab. Canned crab.