velcororay. (starter call)
Roland smokes a tobacco brand called Old Holborn in this world; he offsets the dark smoke with sweet liquorice-flavoured papers, brown in colour. The green plastic lighter looks wrong in his old hands, small, and he lets it clatter to the table once his roll-up is lit.
He must look out of place, here. He’s not a regular. He’s looking for someone who might be, his shoulders set hard enough that he looks suspicious. Blending in remains out of his forte.










