he’d sat himself inside WICKED BREW — a half consumed french press coffee steaming by the window of his booth tucked in the corner of the shop. it had been an early morning for the lad, having found trouble sleeping throughout the entirety of the night. his reading glasses slowly slid down the bridge of his nose as he lifts the mug to his lips, the smooth, rich aroma of roasted beans waking his fatigued mind; the dark liquid was invigorating. before him was an old novel, completely worn by the many years under his (unsuccessful) guardianship. JULIUS CAESAR had once been owned by his mother, who had been gifted the play by his late-grandmother — he’d taken it on a night when his parents hadn’t returned home, and kept it close ever since. it took him a long time to understand how to read it, and though it was boring to most, it was particularly riveting to him. mateo tucked the old polaroid of penelope between the pages and then folded the book, setting it aside to instead retrieve his camera. the steam rising from his coffee mug with the colorful background of the bright morning, was too good of a photo opportunity to pass up. after a failed attempt to get it turned on and several attempts moving around the batteries, he let out a frustrated breath and set it down in front of him. he didn’t have the money to get it repaired, so he set out the tiny container of tiny tools he always carried with his camera and focused on finding the fault. "stupid camera—”