The guy running the counter was a young twenty-something Morrissey look-alike. He squinted at them from underneath large, black Elvis Costello-style glasses.

“Isn’t it a bit dark outside to be wearing sunglasses?” He sniffed at Fritz.

“I don’t suppose your names are actually Barbara and Josh,” he said looking from Fritz to Zooey, who smirked.

“Rough day?” Zooey asked. The guy softened his look.

“You two must be locals,” he said as he wrapped the mugs in yellow tissue paper.

“No,” Zooey gasped sarcastically, “What gave it away?”

“Well,” he started, “You two look like extras from the Urban Oufitter’s catalogue. Besides, you are the first people today who didn’t try to take my picture.” Zooey and Fritz laughed, they knew how ridiculous the tourists could get, especially when given free usage of cameras.

“I’m Nasa,” the guy chimed in.

“You’re name is Nasa?” Questioned Zooey.

“Better than Barbara or Josh,” he quipped.