With the vague shuffle of a junkie or the ponderous attention to balance of a drunk, Jesse turns the corner and drifts up the quiet pavement. He is hunched, his right hand held before his eyes, and whatever is in it, he's following it, his slow and careful steps winding around manholes, pausing at crumpled newspapers, and veering towards the detritus in the gutters. Then, motionless - he stops and looks up, turns one way, then the other, then stares at the dark car before him. Alone, as it were, on the morning sidewalk, accompanied only by everyman's partner Jimmy Beam, visible when the left hand brings the fifth from under his coat for a surreptitious sip.