<div class="floatright">(https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-1G10lPtszSo/U-iaeTXOudI/AAAAAAAAAjU/VIDCAig_Muk/w259-h194-no/index.jpg)</div><strong>Character:</strong>James Greene<br/><strong>Location/Time: </strong>Fisherman's Wharf, early afternoon<br/><strong>Attire:</strong>Running shoes, shorts, jersey, padding, duffelbag with the rest of his belongings.<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Gracie, Toffee<br/><br/>Even as he fed the dog, his eyes feasted on the girl's posterior with a smile, barely realizing the animal slobbered all over his hand in the sheer joy of being given the treat of a half burger. Before she shot her glance, he had torn his gaze away and was scanning the place for anything that could make a proper weapon. Once Toffee had finished cleaning up his fingers, he gave the animal's chin a good rub and then moved on to the counter himself, searching there.<br/><br/>Gracie had reminded him that zombies were not the real threat in these times, but humans were. So far he had been lucky with the few survivors he encountered, but he suspected as times got dire, his luck could run out. "Where are you from ?" he asked, even as he searched the counter, hoping to find something of value there, at least disappointed he didn't find any guns there, nor in the drawer of the register, "Since we're probably stuck here for a little. I think I still hear the big one shuffling about in the back."