The yellow hoodie he'd left on the chair. He looked at himself in the mirror for a second, decided it was fine, and grabbed his wallet and keys.
The Uber arrived at 5:23 AM.
Junior gave the driver the address, then immediately opened his phone and started typing quickly on his keyboard. The best coffee in the district was a small place two blocks off his usual route. They opened at five. He pulled up the menu—black, double shot, no sugar, because Ethan was a masochist—and added a second cup for himself with enough cream and sugar that the barista would judge him.
The car stopped. Junior jogged the two blocks, and pushed through the café door at 5:41.
The place smelled like fresh un-inhaled air and something baking in the back. There was no line. Junior waited, checked his phone twice, and finally grabbed the two cups when they arrived.
Back in the car. The driver asked if he was in a hurry. Junior said no, but his knees were almost throbbing.
