Waffle House comforts him. Maybe it's the smell of bacon frying or the fact he can see the people cooking the food he ordered or that the restaurants all look the same on the inside.

Maybe it's because the breakfast crowd is full of real people. Looking from booth to booth he sees hardhats, toolbelts and badges. No one notices him in the corner with a book in his face.

Maybe he just likes going someplace where there are no expectations beyond his placing an order and leaving a decent tip. Or it could just be the hash browns. He can feel the hard steel of the gun underneath his t-shirt as he carefully fills each square of his pecan waffle with the maximum amount of maple syrup it will hold. Cold sweat rolls down his back as he waits for the restaurant to get a little more crowded.