Wolfgang wipes the grease off their hands on a napkin, then reaches up to try to tame some of their hair, tucking it behind their ears. The food has gone a long way towards soothing the pounding headache that had been building all day, the kind of headache that has been happening more and more often. Wolfgang is just praying it's poor nutrition and dehydration and not a brain tumour.
“Me neither,” they say, their voice still barely above a whisper. “I don't really know anyone in this city.” Well, clearly, if they had any friends they'd probably not be.. like this. Clean, but a little threadbare, tired and thin and not able to afford a goddamn hamburger.