He doesn't know why he's out this late at night, but then again, he doesn't ever know why he's out. It's the only time of day that he feels comfortable walking amongst other people, he guesses. He's paranoid about being around others, because he doesn't like the way they can easily anger him. He doesn't like being angry. What he does like is the clarity that the night sky has when he looks up at it. He runs his fingers through his white, short hair, and he lets out a sigh, slinking into the coffee shop on the corner.

He nods to the barista, smiling softly even though it's still awkward to smile at her. He doesn't know her name, nor her age, but she knows his order, so that's what matters. He goes up, grabbing his black coffee -- there's cinnamon and whipped cream on the top of it -- and looks around the cafe. There's a male sitting in the corner, he's reading a book, and for some reason, Zane wants to go over and talk to him. He doesn't talk to people, doesn't socialize, but he's walking over, tapping the table in front of the male.