He leaned his head on his hand as he read his book, his thick brown hair perfectly styled. There was a low rumbling, but he was able to tune out the noise that filled the small café. The clock on the dingy wooden wall stated 11 PM, as the smaller second hand ticked its way forward in the never-ending cycle. That was normally how he spent his nights. Sometimes he would leave with another person, sometimes he would leave alone. But it would always be late. He had spent so much time doing other things that he realized that doing in a small crappy café, the building of which had been built in the 70’s doing nothing was all he…