"Ah," the man said, with a nod. "The crux of the loyal. And the dream of the lonely." Dream or burden, that was the question. But not one he was willing to ask, in case it were reflected back upon him.
The man tilted his head slightly, and set down his polishing rag. His pipe crept back to his lips and he puffed at it once or twice before moving to another table. "Perhaps, if I may be so bold, you would do me the honor of holding... this."
From the table, he picked up an old Zippo lighter, chrome and brass, and extended it towards Dean.