John lounged in a corner of Lucy's. John never sat; he lounged. His right arm was thrown over the back rest of the booth, while the rest of his body seemed to hang down from it. His left shoulder rested comfortably against the wall and the right foot peeked out from under the table. The ever-present cigarette dangled from his finger tips. He was clean-shaven, which was the only remarkable thing about seeing him in his usual corner of the diner.
