Jack woke up with a black eye that, despite his best efforts the night before, he did indeed remember getting. No more podcasting and then going out afterwards, he decided--his mind was too hot and he got into too many fights.
This morning what he needed--what he really needed--was a cappuccino. The coffee machine at home wasn’t going to cut it. And besides, he could afford a treat sometimes. That’s how he found himself at Front Street Cafe, hungover as all hell, looking like garbage with a black eye, staring into the eyes of a lovely young woman he was pretty sure he knew... intimately.
“Oh, hey,” he said, squinting through his headache. It was a good greeting. The kind of greeting you would say if you totally, for sure, remembered somebody. Totally entirely. “...Sage, right?” He was very proud of remembering the name.