Moving just as quickly as every other person walking along the sidewalk that evening Fletcher really want paying much attention to those around him. Enough not to be rude, he shifted as needed to avoid collisions, but his pace never wavered as he hurried along.
On his back he had a bass guitar case covered in stickers with various levels of ware, it complimented the clothing, both new and old enough to look like he'd dragged it from a mission donation bin. Jeans were torn, boots scuffed, but the flannel shirt he had on over a simple tee shirt looked fresh, even ironed.
In his hand he was attempting to wrangle something that looked like amix between a burrito and a sushi roll. Attempting. He'd gotten about half way through it as he walked and now it was starting to fall apart as he took quick, hurried bites. Trying to finish it before he lost it.