Booker sat alone in a small coffee shop, staring at a very old photograph of a young boy and his parents. One hand gripped it so lovingly at its right corner as his other hand rested his chin, his thumb acting as support and his index finger curled in front of his lips, showing his deep thought. He stared at the picture so long that his drink cooled, and as it started to rain lightly outside, a car horn brought him back to reality. Looking out at the window as a group of teenagers gave the middle finger to the driver and yelling obscenities, Booker folds up the picture and puts it in his inside pocket of his dark grey pea coat.

Grabbing his drink, he waits and watches as the group of rebellious, rude teenagers crowded in. This was enough to send Booker packing. Rude. Rude little pricks. Beside him was a tan shoulder bag and this he clings to him like his life depended on it. He gets up quickly and tries to avoid eye-contact with any of them. One of them, a dark Goth dressed man with more piercings and make up than any clown, steps in front of the doorway, not allowing Booker to pass. "I like your coat. Trying to be a Hipster, Old Man?" Booker actually smirks and chuckles, looking outside the large windows at the pouring rain. Then he looks at the boy. "Be careful outside. The rain might make those fish hooks on your face rust."

A few of them found Booker's response funny and laughed, but not the Goth kid so much. In fact, it seemed to infuriate him. "The fuck did you just say?" Booker rudely pushes past the kid and heads outside. He could hear he had ruffled the boy's feathers something fierce as his friends tried to keep him from going in for a fight. This was a spark that put a skip in Booker's walk that no caffeine could achieve. As he started down the sidewalk, he looks around for vendors and anyone who seemed to be selling things on the street. Particularly what he heard was a woman selling herbs and what she and her customer's were calling 'potions'. Booker's mother had taught him about the Supernatural, and 'potions' were something Witches and Warlocks often mastered and tried to sell the oblivious humans. As he passed random strangers, he'd stop and ask them the same question. "Have you seen a woman selling herbal substances? Something she might call potions?" and it was always a nod for no.

He started to wonder if he was misinformed, or was possibly on the wrong side of town to find her. Why he wanted to find her, well, Booker himself wasn't even entirely sure except he needed to find some way into the Supernatural community, and fast. He had his reasons and he wasn't even sure if this woman was a Witch. She could easily be a human. One of those health nuts. Or worse, she could be pretending to be something she wasn't.

Feeling discouraged and getting cold, he turns down an empty alleyway that cut to the next block. He walks half way down and leans against the brick wall and goes to light up a cigarette, throwing his empty cup into an open dumpster. Just as he takes his first drag, and looking down direction he was going to continue down, he doesn't notice the group of teenagers from the coffee shop approaching him from behind and fast. He hears that little prick's voice say, "Hey Fucker!" and as Booker turned his head, he was greeted with a fist to his cheek. He stumbles, but doesn't fall, immediately tasting blood and pain. He is then punched in the left kidney, and then kicked behind his right knee to knock him down. He's kicked repeatedly, and finally another punch directly to his face that causes his nose to bleed profusely. "Fuck you! Fuck you! Talk shit and this is what happens!" They go through his bag that he dropped the moment he was first punched, dumping out the three books he had; Medieval Myths and Folklore, The Master's Guide to the Paranormal and A Brief History of the Supernatural Phenomenon. They look to see if Booker has a wallet, cash, anything; he doesn't even have an ID on him. They do find the picture in his pocket and take it, passing it from one to the next. "Awww, he's a Mommy and Daddy boy!" The teens laugh, and no one wants to get involved. Cars drive by, people keep walking and Booker is left there to fend for himself. Laying in a dirty puddle and blood, his insides aching, his face going numb in the cold morning air.

And in a state of arrogance or just plain stupidity, Booker gets up to his knees and looks at them and he laughs. He laughs, low at first, but then it grew almost maniacal and the teens don't know what to do. One of the girls says, "He's a nut. Let's just go." but little do they realize that Booker has grabbed a broken piece of mirror and was hiding it in his palm and sleeve. They all seem uneasy about the way Booker was handling this situation, except for their leader. That dumb Goth kid who wanted to keep this up. Booker, through his laughing, says "Is that all?"