Roberto snapped out of his trance when he heard the voice of somebody he didn't know. "What's up, Roberto. I'm Lucas, in case you missed it." One of his new room-mates greeted. "How's the view?"
"Amazing," Roberto turned to him, smiling slightly, sipping at his glass of water. "Reminds me of home," he nodded. "Spain," he explained. He adjusted the collar of his t-shirt nervously before placing the now empty glass down on the bar surface and turning back to Lucas. "Nice to meet you," he smiled, putting out a hand, which Lucas could shake or ignore. "This is weird for me, I've never lived with others, really, other than my family. I look forward to it," he nodded slowly. "I am lucky, you all seem like good people."
For a moment, as Roberto stood in conversation with Lucas, his brain switched off and traveled to a different world. He remembered the night his father died. Suddenly he realised that if his father hadn't died, he wouldn't be standing there right now. His father, on his deathbed, had pleaded that Roberto give up his life of crime. Roberto could do nothing but accept, and had set his sights on living a legal, good life. He was doing that now, in good company, surrounded by friendly people in a beautiful appartment. Perhaps, he thought to himself, that the metaphorical door that closed when his father died had opened another, to a better life for Roberto.
Blinking, he realised that Lucas was still stood there. "Sorry," he sighed. "I just remembered something important, kind of zoned out. Anyway..." he scratched his neck. "What is it you do for fun around here?" He needed to get the stress of travel off of his back and settle in.