"Oh, I can't complain." Bruce drawls, smiling at his little girl. When a barista came by their table, she smiled and greeted Bruce by name. Clearly, he was a regular here.
"Can I get one of those lovely English Breakfast teas, please?" he asks, as though he hopes he's not imposing.
"Not a problem, Mr. Gotham." the barista says, heading back to the counter.
"Work is work, really. Lots of accounts to manage, still tryin' to make sure my clients don't end up in trouble with I.R.S. or nothin'.
How are things with...Jameson? I think that was his name." Bruce asks, genuinely not remembering the name of the Negro his daughter is dating.
He would rather not remember such things, if he could.
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