I believe this meeting may be laced with fate.
Who: Donald W. Blackburn and Jonathan Crane Where: Outsde that cafe. You know the one. When: Early afternoon What: First, formal meeting.
It was week three, and Donald had been in the same spot, predictably, every day. The seat by the fence was always vacant, and he couldn't figure out why--it was the best spot on the deck. It let the sun in, the flowers were right nearby, everything about it was perfect.
Plus, the view was nice.
As a matter of fact, he was checking it out right now--his eyes were just barely over the top line of a book that he wasn't reading. That guy was here again. He had been every afternoon, like clockwork, and every day, Donald had to stare. He was so...interesting? Pretty?