[At least it isn't raining fruit juice anymore, but Allen doesn't really like this -- he assumes it's music -- as much as he liked Jun's, and he doesn't like the flashing lights so much either. Well, whatever. He'll just be over here, coat tossed onto a bench, dancing idly to the rhythm (and getting increasingly more competent as he gets more used to the music) while holding a large plate stacked high with overlarge pepperoni and sausage pieces.