Raymund Jaycob had found himself at the door of the place he was supposed to meet JP. With a grin on his face, the comedian combed through the wild locks of dark hair that sat upon his head, and he gave a few anxious shifts of his feet before he allowed his hand to touch the wood. With his knuckles prone to the door, he gave it a few solid, hopefully loud enough, knocks, before his arm fell down to rest against his side. He knew he was a fidgeter, so the twenty six year old allowed his hands to bury themselves into the depths of his pockets. It was the best thing to do, at least in RJ’s opinion. As he awaited the door to open, the comedian rolled on his heels -- back from them to his toes, back to the heels, rinse and repeat -- as his mind traveled along on a journey to this and that. Tonight was one of his rare nights where he didn’t have work, but even that didn’t dissuade RJ from thinking of his newer jokes, some of them a hit, some of them a miss. He was thinking of one while he waited for JP, giving a brighter grin as the door finally opened, “Look. I made it. And I didn’t stop for a pretzel. Though, do I have to tell you, they were super tempting.”