Ron had just sat down at the table with a small bundle wrapped in cloth as Harry approached. The buttons on Harry's jacket reflected what little light was shining in the pub.
"You know, I really wish we could have jackets too. Robes are so 8th century. Honestly, I never wear them unless I'm leaving the office on the off chance I might run in to my boss. Or his boss. Or the bloody Minister of Magic."
Ignoring the fact that he had completely avoided the subject, Ron continued rambling, as was his usual manner.
"But Tokyo, mate. It's wild. Apart from some strange food, I'm alright though. The fish. They don't cook it. Pop it on a bit of rice and call it supper. Ten of twenty servings, two pieces at a time."