So much for a dashing getaway.

That was a terrible idea. It isn't as if I know how to steal a car anyway. Or, you know, drive, Phoenix mused, glancing in the spotless picture window of the next establishment he passed. He looked back down again after a second, and kept walking for another three or four steps before stopping and backing up as his brain finally caught up with his feet.

He shouldn't have been surprised to spot Edgeworth on the other side of the glass, seated at an unimpressive little table in an equally unimpressive little restaurant, frowning down at his journal. They did have a habit of running into each other, after all.

For a moment, he considered tapping on the autumn-cold pane, testing how long it took Edgeworth to realize that he wasn't being pestered by a homeless man. (Probably a little while -- living in a city had that effect.) But something else occurred to him, and he leaned close to the glass, breathing on it enough to fog before scrawling a carefully-backwards "HI" with his finger. Then he knocked on the window.

It was childish, but after one of the longest days of his life, he felt entitled to a little stupidity.