[As he lifts his eyes from the photo to the other man's face, he can see those drifting strings reflected in his glasses. Just because it's never real doesn't mean they don't bother him. Sometimes the hallucinations are so vivid they get the best of him but for now he remains sure that they're illusory only.]

No, it's best for you to get filled in, I think. I'm Rosinante. I do a lot of things around here; building boats, charting stars, odd jobs. And those hands, they're not real. Everyone's been seeing them this week. Things worse than hands, too. Dunno why, but probably something to do with the spirits.

[He takes a long drink, then keeps his eyes low, mostly on the table. He's so sick of seeing those things. Any moment now the people at other tables in the room will change into horrifying versions of elements from his past. It keeps happening and he doesn't want to see it anymore.]