"Yeah, that'd be good," says Jay, turning to lean against the counter and watch Tim dick around on the instrument. "You can make decent money off that, I think. Like... Union Square or somewhere." He shrugs.

He pours coffee for himself and for Tim and carries it over to the little table, keeping quiet while Tim continues to fiddle around. He doesn't say much else, alternately watching and tooling around on his phone, and trying to cling hard to this feeling, the sense of normalcy and contentment. Hanging out, having a good time. This isn't going to last forever, he knows that too well, but he's going to grip onto it for as long as he can. Try to remember how it is, for those times when shit falls apart.