Miles-san's gaze caught.  "Ah!  Shoes!"  He limped over to the pile.  Jin tagged along, and helpfully also began sorting.  The galactic's feet were a little smaller than his own, but then, Jin had had to find replacement shoes here just a month ago, when his toes had pushed through his last pair like spring shoots through soil.  The ladies' fancy shoes were all useless even to most of the ladies here, and tended to accumulate, but Miles found a pair of sport shoes that fit at last.  They were a girly flowered print, but he didn't seem to notice as he shoved them on and fastened the straps.  "That's better.  Now I can move."  He turned, scanning the stores more closely.  "Huh.  Canes!"

He went to the collection leaning in a corner and picked through it, passing up some sturdy medical ones with multiple rubber feet, and others that were too long.  He made his final choice by sweeping them around like swords and thwacking them against the wall, so that Jin wasn't sure if he was looking for a prop or a weapon.  But just in case it was the former, Jin led him back to his rooftop home by the inside route, up the emergency stairs and out the exchanger tower door.

Miles-san took over the table and chair, set out his paper, and frowned, face intent.  Then he bent and began scratching with the pen, with occasional long, thoughtful pauses.  Jin had cleaned out the chickens' boxes, counted the chicks just in case any had found the parapet again, and brushed Lucky before the man finished writing, sealed the note, and looked up, squinting around.

"Do you have a clean, sharp knife?  Or pin, or needle?"

"I'll look."  Jin eventually found a little scalpel in the half-a-medicine-kit he'd once collected, and handed it over.  Miles-san eyed it, shrugged, and to Jin's alarm poked his thumb with the sharp end.  After squeezing out a drop of blood, he bent and pressed it over the flap, leaving a clear thumbprint across the line, which he then circled and initialed.

"Yah, wow," said Jin.  "Why'd you do that?"

"DNA.  Thumbprint's as good a mark as my grandfather's seal-dagger.  Better.  They didn't do DNA scans in his day.  After all, one couldn't expect the attaché to bestir himself for just any anonymous note off the street."

He then proceeded to give Jin a rather complicated set of directions for after he'd reached the east side, which he made Jin recite back; the result made him sigh, and bend again to write the man's name and address on the outside of the envelope after all.  "I expect you'll get there one way or another.  Don't give this into the hand of anyone but Lieutenant Johannes or Consul Vorlynkin, mind.  It's very private."

Jin promised this, and went to find his box of coins, fishing out enough for the tube-tram fare, both ways.  It didn't leave much.