A quiet man haunts the bar on the corner of South Main & Crawford.
Never says much, but always listens. The other patrons still feel very comfortable around him, oddly enough. He sits alone on the patio, watching with blue eyes that glow like the streetlights around him. Only ever looks down to quickly scratch things onto a notepad. Who even uses paper anymore?
I never got to ask him. He never came back after the night he took off chasing that woman in the road.

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