The rambunctious man sat across the wobbly table from me, a floral cloth covered the space between us. Between the grunts of mental frustration and snickering at childish witticisms we shared amongst each other, he would vigorously go to work upon the tall stack of loose paper in front of him. Long spans of unbroken and scratchy handwriting of proofs of matrices were interrupted by frantic bouts of erasing, shaking the table and causing us others to pause in our own workings. Disregarding the startled stares and quick queries, he took a moment to regain his composure and straighten his Harris Tweed blazer, returning yet again to his mathmatical mutterings and musings, making sure to make no further mistakes in his night's quandry.

It's the math man writing some equations.

His patched elbows resting on the table, the man across from me stared intently into his slick cellular phone, sending messages to whichever questionable romantic interests or frivolous friends clung to his fleeting attention for the night. Regardless, his messaging could not hold him long, and he layed the phone beside him on the floral table cloth, quickly pushing out his wood-backed chair and rising in a flurry of loose fabric and flying papers. Before any of his studious companions had the time to react, he had sped out of the room on some unspoken errand. In light of their eccentric host's curious departure, talk arose amongst the gathered regarding his intent. Theories of hedonism and mischief were hypothesized, though before they were able to be thoroughly examined, the host returned in as much of a flustered state as he had left, the sole difference being in the elaborately carved drinking glass he was carrying.
Sipping the undoubtedly noxious liquid from the vessel, he addressed his comrades.