Wolfgang was in the middle of chewing when that... happened, and they stop, wide-eyed. They peek up at him through the curtain of their hair, trying to see him clearly without making direct eye contact.
“I...” They swallow. “I work on nights sometime.” Their accent is quite thick, though hard to place — there's something vaguely Middle Eastern about it, but Wolfgang does not really look Middle Eastern, though they've taken to telling people they are Turkish and their name is Kivanç. (People keep calling them Kevin.)
The fluorescent light in here is over-bright, washing everything out. Outside it's very dark, so dark you can see yourself in the window like a mirror. The headlights of passing cars and taxis occasionally make these slightly dulled flashes through the window, and Wolfgang is looking when that light reflects itself grey-green in the stranger's eyes. Like a cat.
“You're a mutant,” they blurt out, and then immediately turn red and look down. “Sorry.”