Oatmeal with raisins. Every day, or at least nearly every day. What can she say, she's got a pattern. Just like how she sits in the same booth every day and talks to the same people every day and gets the same post-it notes (well, not exactly the same). She does the same job and then, when that's done and she's washed the blood out of her hair, she does her other one. And then she goes home and she kisses a girl with full lips and strong fingers.

...Wait, uh. Wait, no. That's in the mansion. If she was really home, she wouldn't remember any of...that.

"Fuck." George stares openly at her memory of Rube, hands shaking. After the last event, she's actually even less ready for this.

After all, what would be worse? Getting killed two events in the row, or getting killed by her own memory of Rube?

George shakes her head sharply, vaults out of the booth and out the door. Anywhere but here, with them. Kill me in the parking lot, just don't kill me in there.