Booker sat alone in a small coffee shop, staring at a very old photograph of a young boy and his parents. One hand gript it so lovingly at its right corner as his other hand rested his chin, his thumb acting as support and his index finger curled around 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 pair of teenagers gave the middle finger to the driver, Booker unfolds 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 rebellous, rude teenagers crowding in. This was enough to send Booker packing. Rude. Rude little pricks. 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 jewels on your face rust."

A few of them found Booker's response funny and laughed, but not their friend so much. "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. This was a spark that put a skip in his 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. Partically what he heard was a dark-haired woman selling herbs and what she and her customer's were calling 'potions'. Booker's mother had taught him about 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.

Feeling discouraged and getting cold, he turns down an empty alleyway. He walks half way down and leans against the brick wall and goes to light up a cigarrette. Just as he takes his first drag, and looking down the way, 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. He is then punched in the left kidney, and then kicked behind his right knee to knock him down. Then he's kicked repeatedly, and finally another punch directly to his face that causes his nose to blood profusely. "Fuck you! Fuck you, you dumb fucking dick!" They go through his bag, dumping out the three books he had; Medival Myths and Folklore, The Master's Guide to the Paranormal and A Brief History of the Supernatural Phnemaoa. They look to see if Booker has a wallet, cash, anything; he doesn't even have an ID. They do find the picture in his pocket and take it and rub it all over his bloody face. "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 decide what to do.