Adams sighed, running his hand through his thick, jet black hair. He shoved his hands into his pockets, walking along the street in the freezing air. It was bright outside, though, sure enough. This was like a morning ritual for him, to walk eight blocks to his favorite little coffee shop each morning. It was a nice little modern place that had great coffee and baked goods. He fingered the money in his pocket, just making sure it was still there.

"Alright..." he murmered, coming to a stop a few yards behind a stoplight, waiting for it to turn. He impatiently tapped his foot, waiting. His scarf was lifted by the wind, dancing madly around his chest. His alert eyes focused on the ground, awkwardly shuffling his feet.