In the course of an average graveyard shift, at least in an urban center such as Port Obscura, a person is also likely to see their fair share of local vagrants wandering by in search of places to do whatever it is that they feel the need to do at such ridiculous hours. The crusty bird lady at 11:30 is probably off to find somewhere to sleep. The one-armed Vietnam veteran at 1 is probably off to find a place where he can drink the contents of that paper bag without getting nabbed by the police. The black guy with ridiculous amounts of untameable hair at whatever ungodly hour the clock currently reads is probably off to... come inside?
Julian wanders in, a gym bag thrown over his shoulder, and heads straight for the typical convenience store coffee station, which conveniently contains the sort of fresh-brewed pots that get set out in preparation for those pathetic scraps of people who stumble into convenience stores still asleep and buy coffee in some sad and usually unsuccessful attempt to wake up for an early morning at work and fend off the impending headache that inevitably results from not meeting the body's minimum necessary caffeine intake. There is a moment in which he contemplates the different sizes of coffees available versus their respective prices. Then he moves over to a mostly empty section of counter and proceeds to count up the handful of coins he manages to dig out of his various jeans and jacket pockets. Done with that, he considers the prices again and then pulls the bag from his shoulder and rummages for change in there as well.
In the end, he finally arrives at the counter with a medium-sized cup of coffee and a shitton of change, the latter of which he unceremoniously dumps onto the register counter with a simple intonation of "sorry" muttered around the coffee lid.