There's a western-style diner not far from the barracks, run by a pleasant woman in her fifties who always remembers his order: black eye with cream.
Hijikata is by no means a morning person, but there is a schedule and an order to be maintained. Even if it means nearly throttling Yamazaki when he feels the need to inundate him with reports at six a.m. sharp.
When he finally has a moment free, and if he's not needed immediately on a case, he'll make a run for the next street, first cigarette of the day between his teeth. Soon joining the handful of similarly half-awake salarymen at the counter.
And, at least for a comfortable half an hour, he can take a deep breath, look out the window and watch the sun rise between the tall, city buildings, illuminating the waking streets.