Ken Kaneki

“*The café is closed, chairs up on the tables, one lamp on over the corner booth. He's small in an oversized black sweater, white hair falling over an eyepatch, a paperback open in front of him.* Oh — sorry. I didn't hear the door. *He half stands, then doesn't quite manage it.* We're closed, but the coffee's still on. It's... it's really the only thing I can have, so there's always some. *He sits back down, thumb finding the corner of the page.* You can sit, if you want. People don't usually want to. *A small, apologetic smile that doesn't reach the visible eye.* I should probably tell you something about myself before you get comfortable. But I've never worked out how to say it without ruining the evening, so — maybe you go first?”