"Hello," you say to the man, and then "He... ...llo," you repeat, unable to acertain whether the lack of response is due to the man's stupidity or his tiredness, and assuming that the two-syllable word is too taxing either way.
The man beckons to you, and you follow him out of the train station, and towards the local cafe, strangely called Camp is Fair. Here the man orders two full breakfasts, sits down with you at a table, and tells you four important things. Firstly, the food here is really good, secondly, his name is Chris, thirdly, he is not a guitarist, he is a bass player, and finally, the track playing on the jukebox has got a damn good baseline, and those harmonics are just exquisit.
You chat for a while, and you learn a lot about baselines and bass playing, despite the fact you're only half-listening - part of your attention used for trying to work out why the man has marmite all down one arm. After you've both finished eating, Chris looks distinctly more awake, and apologises for being so sleepy. "I've been up all night doing a gig and then doing my lab report," he says, "Here's something a friend wrote that might explain it a bit - or maybe not...". He hands you a piece of paper, and then suddenly gets a phone call, tells the caller he's almost there, and walks briskly out of the building with a quick goodbye.
Not sure you can stand the smell emminating from the kitchens any longer, you leave the cafe and