[The scent of fryer grease and sweet syrup mingles with the brimstone and otherworldly demonic remains upon his shirt. A long night's residual reminder that days never really come to a close. It isn't a pleasant smell, though the stains are mostly hidden now by the trench coat that is folded over his form. Thankfully, at this hour the patronage is few and far between at the diner for many to sit close enough to notice. This spot isn't John's first choice, he'd have been content at a pub, but he's famished and there isn't any of the latter in sight. He spikes his coffee with a small bottle he carries with him, one eye on the perimeter and the other upon the menu, striving to find something on either that might catch his fancy.]
John Constantine | Hellblazer | OTA