#rowanvankessel

The north side of Williamsburg wasn't Garland's normal stomping ground. If it hadn't been for checking up on one of his kids (clients) and that meeting running late, he would have gone straight home. Instead, he found himself weighing the lesser evil between delivery or stopping at a grocer on the way home, and Harvest Market on North 5th was just about the only one open he could find. He pulled his '89 M3 into the parking garage, paid the ridiculous fee, and rounded the corner into the store.

Gar was happy to find it mostly empty. After a long day, he didn't fancy being in a crowd. Tugging the collar of his canvas jacket tighter, he tried to ward off the lingering chill of the New York winter that seeped through the walls. Without so much as a semblance of a meal in mind, he began to wander the aisles with the expectation that at some point, he would find his appetite.

His absentminded browsing led him around a corner--and right into another shopper.

"Sorry, my bad--" The apology left him on instinct, but he stopped short as recognition struck.

"Ro?"