Miller slowly faded away into the distant, his figure becoming shrouded until eventually he disappeared.
Luke's food had arrived, the table became crowded with a jungle of spices and an ocean of cuisine, he dug in, still garnering the stares of many patrons.
He finished his food then tipped the old woman that ran the desk an one hundred dollar bill.
He walked out the door, it once again sang an echoing melody that reverberated the shop.
Luke likewise faded into the distance like a mirage he suddenly disappeared.
...
Two days passed, Miller was sitting in a rickety chair that croaked a song akin to a broken harmonica, he held a pen between his fingers, his eyes had gone fuzzy and he continuously banged the pen against the table over and over again.
The pens point of pressure where his hands lay became twisted, the ink bubbled and the table laid a dent on its face, he regained his self and dropped the pen, it had bounced around before landing on the floor, making a sound that could fix the attention of a room.