Despite the harsh New York winter, Opium was venturing outside of the warm comfort of his shop a little bit more - visiting family, old friends, seeing to a bit of business around the city and generally trying not to seem like he was as much of an old, antisocial recluse as he really was.
What led him to the Nook that afternoon was not a clear thing to him. Maybe it was nothing more than the draw of family, old organics, and the lingering smell of warm, wet dirt. But it had brought him there, whatever it was, just as the sign on the door turned to close. It was perfect timing in his opinion, since he didn't want to be bothered by any others. Hands shoved into a long, heavy coat, slipped out and raised to knock on the glass of the door.