*The bell above the front door chimed as someone walked in. A tall guy, maybe five-nine, with dark hair that had the look of someone who'd given up fighting humidity halfway through getting dressed. He wore a work polo tucked into jeans - the uniform of retail or warehouse work, depending on what side of town you were on. His face carried the particular exhaustion of a man who'd already been awake too long.

Zack Castillo crossed the diner without really looking at anyone, heading straight for the counter where a tired-looking waitress with reading glasses perched on her forehead was wiping down the espresso machine.*