( That staring did not go unnoticed even if, by all appearances, Gabriel continues with his meal nonchalantly. It was a look he'd cultivated well. No one at diners wanted to really look at anybody, you were expected to keep your eyes drifting, non-threatening, casual.

Funny what information one could glean from that. Where the exits were. How often the waiters came around or when they snuck off for a quick snort of booger sugar behind the shop. The chef kept his head down, buried in his work or, more accurately, the sports game on his phone. Gabriel couldn't see it, but knew the look of a gambler. He had a whole check, possibly more, riding on the next couple hours. And the hostess? The long sleeves didn't fool anyone, not with how she kept scratching at the inside of her elbow.

All this he derives over several bites, a few glances, seemingly under the guise of simple people watching. )

I travel often. Sometimes I have enough for a cup of ramen, other times it's more.

( But that'd only lead to more questions, wouldn't it? He turns that perceptive tool on Hank now, the metal of his fork clacking between his teeth. Unkempt hair, multiple beers, awkwardness. He sucks the last tendrils of cheese from the utensil, working his tongue between the prongs. This was someone who didn't want to go home. Bad relationship, bad memories, overburdened work load, not enough work? He was a puzzle that needed solving. )

But what about you? Do you often enjoy the company of strange young men at night? Meeting like this?