Angel's at a table, with some hot chocolate and his notebook. There's nothing particularly doom-filled on the horizon, not as far as he knows, he's just... trying to figure something out.
Namely: So what do you get a bohemian filmmaker who can afford everything (even if he doesn't want it) for his birthday
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"Blue is Antar, right?" The question's out before he can stop it.
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"...Yeah?"
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Plenty of chairs to go around, after all, and it's not like his list is getting anywhere.
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Sure, Collins may be running the thing, but he's still thinking of it as Mark's restaurant.
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"Roswell's vaguely famous, though, at least in my world. One of those 'no one knows what happened and the speculation's still running rampant' deals."
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