Initially, this memory seems pretty boring - a quiet street, a quaint bakery, a normal bench. The black and grey-ness of everything is atmospheric but not immediately noticeable, though as the woman appears it strikes Patrice that oh, yes, there really is no color here. The boy on the bench looks something like Des (maybe, it's hard to tell with his chin tucked so much and his hair so un-bleached), but the greyscale of the area and the twang of an accent are confirmation enough for him. The nervous energy in the air of waiting, of someone else's tardiness, is a little uncomfortable, but only enough to make Patrice roll his shoulders as he looks at his two roommates. 

"I'm glad no one is roaming around in my head," he says, almost casually, before he moves towards the boy on the bench.