Re: The Disaffected/The Entertainer
Miles wasn't worried about being liked. He wasn't in this hallway looking for a friend. He was curious about the train stopping, about the whys and hows. There had been announcements, but he knew plenty enough about the world to know that whatever came over a loudspeaker wasn't the whole truth on a platter. Call him a jaded man, but he was just accepting of how life was. There were layers of living caked on his boots, along with other things.
He rested an arm on the open doorway. Arm up, elbow to the edge, fingers loose. If he was bothering here, Miles didn't seem to notice. He crossed an ankle and waited for recognition with the patience of a man accustomed to seeing time slip. Time was all there was, and nothing else made a whole lot of difference in the grander scheme of things, at least to Miles' way of thinking about the world.
Miles wasn't looking to get laid. He got laid plenty on the road. Musicians, regardless of age or attractiveness could always find a warm bed. "Any clue what's going on?" he asked, voice deep and minorly twanged.