I arrived at Grayson's mid-city apartment at 11:25 p.m., staked out the building with my infrared binoculars until I located his floor, and noticed lights on in a bedroom I intuited was his from the shadow his body cast on the curtains. It was easy to scale the wall and arrive at a ledge near his primary window, where I installed myself to survey his actions without being noticed. It was of utmost importance to my purposes to ensure that he was alone, safe, and trustworthy.
Judging from the surroundings, Grayson is between 29 and 32 years old, college-educated, has pronounced leftist tendencies, and brings in a modest income well below his earning capability. He is a transplant to the city, a bit self-possessed, has little contact with friends or family--in fact, I suspect he is an orphan--and spends an inordinate amount of his disposable income on clothing. Evidence of frequently-used amateur-grade weight training equipment suggests he takes excellent care of his well-toned body. The condition of his kitchen tells me he eats out more often than in.
I studied him for half an hour as he walked through the small, moderately tidy apartment beginning and abandoning a variety of odd jobs, visibly nervous as he anticipated my arrival. He looked exactly the way I remembered him, the way I had pictured him since our last meeting: clean-cut, athletic, intelligent.
Once I had obtained all the information I could gather in this fashion, I made my presence known to him.