The first thing that Bruce thinks as he comes around the corner - angled for the coffee shop - is 'It's that guy from outside the library.' The first thing it looks like he thinks as he comes around the corner is 'It's that fucking dog.'
(Which he does think, just not at first. But he's not supposed to recognize this guy, so outwardly, he doesn't.)
For a moment, Bruce stops outside, and stares down at the familiar animal, somewhat puzzled. ... It's just a coincidence, right? It has to be. ... And then he decides he's not going to wait long enough to have that confirmed or denied, and heads into the store. (He considered leaving, after seeing Jason, but that would look suspicious. He's not even sure who the hell Jason is yet - or even his name - just that he's someone who recognized his own face, or thought he did. Who did he mistake him for?)
He's dressed unobtrusively, jeans and a solid-color flannel button-up under a winter coat left undone, with half an ID tag visible clipped onto his shirt pocket. So he's got a job somewhere boring and nine-to-five. The barista recognizes him, asks if he wants decaf or hot chocolate, and he just shrugs, not because he's indifferent but because she has better taste than he does and he doesn't quite care. He does pick a pastry, though, and quietly asks her how they're doing that week.
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(Which he does think, just not at first. But he's not supposed to recognize this guy, so outwardly, he doesn't.)
For a moment, Bruce stops outside, and stares down at the familiar animal, somewhat puzzled. ... It's just a coincidence, right? It has to be. ... And then he decides he's not going to wait long enough to have that confirmed or denied, and heads into the store. (He considered leaving, after seeing Jason, but that would look suspicious. He's not even sure who the hell Jason is yet - or even his name - just that he's someone who recognized his own face, or thought he did. Who did he mistake him for?)
He's dressed unobtrusively, jeans and a solid-color flannel button-up under a winter coat left undone, with half an ID tag visible clipped onto his shirt pocket. So he's got a job somewhere boring and nine-to-five. The barista recognizes him, asks if he wants decaf or hot chocolate, and he just shrugs, not because he's indifferent but because she has better taste than he does and he doesn't quite care. He does pick a pastry, though, and quietly asks her how they're doing that week.