Porto.

There is a man sitting at the other table of the little wine shop. He seems much alike Eddie Dean; the awkward black hair, the pale skin, the hooked looking and a pair of eyes whose colour is difficult to distinguish. Green, amber, blue, grey... could be one, some of those or might all of them together, it wouldn't make him more or less odd. He has some half emptied glasses of Porto wine on the table, his candies are almost all gone. He looks through the dull window, waiting for another man who went to the bathroom. The mist coming from the river gives a gloomy appearance to the city. He probably needs a fix; the bags under his eyes seems to be weighting a ton and he patters the table with his long fingers.
Tick-tock, says the shop's clock. He apparently cannot keep on waiting. Dean's clone puts himself on his feet and walks to the bathroom door. There he knocks. And nothing.
He calls the man's name. And nothing.
He tries to open it. It wasn't locked, so the door opens quietly. He stares the toilet, the water gently moving a large piece of shit. The smell spreads through the shop.