Oh Quincy, I hope your life isn't as cold and lonely as you looked meticulously picking apart your McBurger with knife and fork.
The "make up backstories for strangers" game Thom and I play backfired somewhat this afternoon. This fellow's tragic invented narrative, sunken cheeks, twisted toes, delicate OCD-esque behaviours and melancholy air affected me to the extent that I, along with a well-cajoled Thom, followed him from McDonalds to the bathroom to the loitering area of Town Hall station where we sat opposite him for half an hour, waiting to see what platform he'd go to. Unfortunately before Quincy made a move Thom decided he wanted to go home, and I was too much of a pussy to stay alone.
My lovely Quincy, all I wanted to do was to hug you and let you know it'd all be okay, and now you'll never know that someone cares!