An hour or two passed, good was served and taken back, the R&B continued to play softly over the speakers within the dining hall, and the rest of the table was still vacant. A long and drawn silence passed over the room in the absence of speech, and it was cut through by the creaking of the door on the far side of the dining area. It slowly opened, and a man's heavy body walked forward leaning into it. He wore an old and shabby brown blazer, tattered and worn by often use, one a little too small and clung halfway at his forearms. His pants were similarly in shreds, khakis that were moist yet still dirty, as if they had waded in sewage. Beads of the water trapped within their frantic dripped from the hem of the pant legs. His shoes once belonged to a businessman, it seemed, as they were leather and pointed and beautiful, but now they were rubbish as the soles were only barely attached by a stand of rubber and they, too, seemed to be wet. As he hobbled forward on legs made of gelatin, a black and viscous trail of unknown fluids followed him, tainting the beautiful and cleanly floor. As opposed to his formerly curled and upright hair, it was clumped together in greasy straight strands, matted to his skull, the black retreating in place of frosted white. It hung over his eyes, and if you looked intently, you could see their true nature; black, cavernous, bagged, depressed into his skull, the beautiful blue that once existed there now turned to a dead darkness. A similarly white bushy mustache clung to his upper lip and a long beard sprouted from his chin, dark intermittent with light to make a muddy gray. The deeply tanned face had similarly gone, as it was a ghastly pale with the sheen of a sickly, diseased green over it. But the scars were still there, curving around the contours of his face concealed by uncut hair. His head throbbed from the perpetual hangover he was suffering from, bile swirled at the base of his raw throat, waiting to be thrown back out of his body, which had the consistency of rubber. He tumbled forward, shambling mixed with lurching and clinging to the wall for balance. There was little muscle left on him, and he was now a frail, pathetic man, a hollow shell. He barely looked around the place, glaring past Drake, who was a face now alien to him, and collapsing into his chair.