He tells himself that the coffee is hot enough to scald him through the flimsy paper cup, so like a normal person Clark puts a cup holder around it, throws some change on the counter as he balances the beverage with his notes and a coat for later (when it rains), and then Clark finally steps outside.
It's a balancing act-pushing the door open with his side, trying to hold it for the frazzled mom shooing her kids in because she can't leave them in the car while she gets herself a much needed caffeine shot, and then letting his foot release the bottom corner of the door so he doesn't catch toddler fingers or trip with stray children under foot. It would not be very super of him to spill hot coffee on a distracted five-year-old.
The sun is bright and the air is already warm, despite the early hour. Traffic crams itself in an impatient line-up at the intersection as Clark crosses the convenience store's parking lot for the walk-light. Tall buildings will soon shelter him from the sun, but until then the glare reflects off of high glass windows where, higher up, men are preparing to scale down the sides to wash them.
Oh, and there's a woman amongst them, too. Clark squints away from the sun and can't help but hear her barking orders at someone sixty stories up. It's not likely that anyone will be careless enough to fall if she's about, so Clark waits for the light and shifts so his glasses don't catch more of the glaring sun as cars whiz past.
He starts to pick up sounds. He hears the mother inside the store which hasn't been successfully robbed since Clark started his job at the Planet. It's a four-block walk and two second flight from his desk. She's warning her child to stay out of someone else's way. A driver is listening to a song that Clark recognizes as belonging to one of Conner's favourite bands. There's a man on the other side of the cross-walk talking to someone else in a severely formal manner and for a moment, Clark feels something shiver against his spine.
He slurps at his coffee, wishing for the time to go back and add sugar. The traffic stops and Clark notes that there is only a stream of the soft application of brakes,with drivers considerate enough to heed the light here, and for all the other fifty-four intersections in this downtown section. No crashes this morning.
He moves forward five steps without the sun's glare clearing and can make out the outline of the people coming towards him, with whom he'll brush elbows with. Nobody had been sharing his corner with him so Clark crosses alone.
That voice again, and when the sun loses its angle Clark can see through his sunspots to the well manicured man in the black suit speaking to another well manicured man about oil. It's not just Clark's prowess as a reporter that lets him identify the speaker.
Bruce Wayne strides past Clark Kent, never changing the flow of his conversation. The man he's with is a well-to-do banker in Metropolis, Clark thinks. That man's eyes flicker across Clark with the same, vague identification that Clark gives him. The man's heart increases slightly, probably hoping that the unexpected reporter doesn't stop his client in the middle of the street to ask stupid questions.
Clark keeps his eyes ahead, blinking away the blindness a normal man would have as he fumbles to find the drink-hole in his cup by memory. It's too early in the morning for interviews anyhow.
And it's too late after his last adventure for repeated farewells.