Technically in-bar
When Riley shuffles up to the bar, his clothes are rumpled and wrinkly; there's no need for his new (nicer, more expensive) duds during a marathon Resident Evil 4 session with Mike, his former roommate. He's wearing jeans, a T-shirt, a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, his lucky scarf, and socks, with his glasses tucked into his slightly-unkempt (but artistically so, or so he'd like to think) hair.
He plants his elbow on the bar and then scrubs his face with his hand. "Pancakes," Riley decides after a long moment, resting his chin in his hand. "What this morning needs is pancakes."
Explaining to Mike where they came from is something he'll worry about later.
Or he could just eat all the evidence now.
He plants his elbow on the bar and then scrubs his face with his hand. "Pancakes," Riley decides after a long moment, resting his chin in his hand. "What this morning needs is pancakes."
Explaining to Mike where they came from is something he'll worry about later.
Or he could just eat all the evidence now.