Isabel sat low in the booth, rubbing the pads of her fingers against the fake red leather of the seat. She was dressed in black shorts and a tank top; Worn braided bracelets covered her wrists. Her toes wriggled inside her scuffed up Ripsaw Vans. Mason bounced up to the table with a plastic tray loaded with two burgers, a large set of fries and a medium Diet Coke. He was dressed in a green and white polo shirt, tan khaki pants and thick, clumsy shoes. Placing the tray down, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, adjusted his shirt and sat down.

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