They're a feeble disguise, those glasses are, but Daisy still pushes them up as she enters. Better to have a shield against prying eyes, satellites, and god-knows-what-else than to go naked. So, having just snorted a bump of powdered confidence from the hollow of her thumbnail, Daisy struts on across the Starbucks toward Lennon. "You the guy we're waiting for?", she asks.