[center] [h2][color=00aeef] Alice [/color] [/h2]
[H3] Thinker Cup Cafe [/h3]
[@Sickle-cell][/center]
[hr]
Alice sat in a booth in the back of the Cafe, tapping her fingers across the table. She'd left very specific instructions on the back of the letter, detailing the black hair, tight blue shirt,  and green eyes she'd have. If Whetstone couldn't tell who she was among all these hipsters fools, then this meeting want worth Alice's time.

While she waited, Alice looked around. The place was bland. No color. The people we drab.

This Cafe sucked, she decided.