[color=f7941d][h2]Douglas Song[/h2][/color][color=f7941d][h3]Hallow Grounds Coffee[/h3][/color]
Song's amber eyes searched the man for a moment, running through everything he had said and what a bizarre illustration it all created in mind. Yes, yes this did seem to match all of which Song knew, a compromised television station, two men in masks, some sort of seemingly disturbing message. Dogs, however, did not make things any more clear - the cages did. What did the cages mean? That too must have been some sort of insight that for the moment was meaningless or lost, a murky undertone amidst the clarity of the visionary waters. He lingered not on this for too long, reaching into his pocket to withdraw a wallet.

"That is bad news for sure."

As planned, Song hadn't more than forty dollars, and utterly lacked any electronic means of payment; not a single card lined the old, decrepit leather thing. Thumbing through it, he came to take out a badly wrinkled twenty, one that had gone all too long through the hands of many men, certainly far more than those of the night before. Handing it over, the buyer of the tea carried on in his conversation.

"How often is this tea ordered?" Song inquired, tapping the box with the fingers resting atop it.

[@Little Italy][@Metronome]