[ Booker is perfectly fine to continue on in silence for the rest of the time it takes to get to the small restaurant, and he chooses not to read into the quiet or the way the young woman's voice seems to soften at the edge of that one word.
One might say he has a knack for somehow being drawn to the grieving, due to his own deep (deep) seeded sorrow — but maybe it's simply that there are so many of them wandering around the world, lost in different ways it's easier than he thinks to find someone else like him.
The sign up ahead is a good distraction as any and as they approach the building, which has certainly seen better days, Booker simply waves a hand.
After you.
It's clear that the building might once have been attractive — years ago, in a former life perhaps — remnants of bright crimson exterior paint now dulled to a dirty reddish-orange, coming off in flakes to reveal chipped concrete beneath. The restaurant's sign in bright neon hums loudly in the otherwise quiet side street, but inside is the continuous sound of clinking plates, chopsticks, and chatter. It's quiet enough to hold a conversation over a small table of dumplings, but loud enough not to be overheard. People here leave each other alone, likely because the common clientele value their privacy.
Booker trails behind the young woman, lifting a hand to indicate a table for two. A server waves them towards a spot near the back. ]
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One might say he has a knack for somehow being drawn to the grieving, due to his own deep (deep) seeded sorrow — but maybe it's simply that there are so many of them wandering around the world, lost in different ways it's easier than he thinks to find someone else like him.
The sign up ahead is a good distraction as any and as they approach the building, which has certainly seen better days, Booker simply waves a hand.
After you.
It's clear that the building might once have been attractive — years ago, in a former life perhaps — remnants of bright crimson exterior paint now dulled to a dirty reddish-orange, coming off in flakes to reveal chipped concrete beneath. The restaurant's sign in bright neon hums loudly in the otherwise quiet side street, but inside is the continuous sound of clinking plates, chopsticks, and chatter. It's quiet enough to hold a conversation over a small table of dumplings, but loud enough not to be overheard. People here leave each other alone, likely because the common clientele value their privacy.
Booker trails behind the young woman, lifting a hand to indicate a table for two. A server waves them towards a spot near the back. ]