<span style="color: #0080BF">"Will you give me a chance to help you?" </span><br/><br/>Desmond studied everything about this stranger that seemed to know everything about him. Studied his words, his body language, the borderline desperation in his voice. He let his eyes drop to the damp concrete floor of the alley, as if considering his options when in reality he knew exactly what he was going to say next.<br/><br/>"Alright." He looked back up at the man in front of him as he pushed himself away from the wall. If they were going to do this, whatever<span style="font-style: italic">this</span>was, they needed some place to talk. Desmond had questions, and this man seemed to have answers that wouldn't do well to be overheard, especially not in some dank Florida alleyway. That aside, he'd spent too much time outside anyway. Whatever squad car had been following him - because he was sure there was one escorting him - had probably radio'd in that he didn't go home. Harmless enough, they couldn't bastardize him for not going directly home, but they could harass him over it. "Do you have somewhere we could talk? My place is open, but it's not quiet and it's not empty."