". . . I s'pose it makes sense that the rest of our calendar system wouldn't match up either.  What're they like?"

"They're not, it doesn't matter," says the one who said earlier it doesn't matter.

". . . Yes it does."

"Wow, really?" says the one who said it doesn't matter. "Gosh. What does it matter for?"

"I heard you're more likely to be a hockey player if you're born around then!" someone pipes up.

"Oh. The president isn't a hockey player."

"Has your society . . . not noticed the thing where people born on the same birthday are just - fundamentally the same person underneath their life circumstances, yet."

"I haven't noticed that, no - anybody else? -"

"I have the same birthday as Josh and we hate each other."

"Yeah, we had to put two cakes in separate rooms."

"Lots of people don't get along with their geminis; like I think pretty much all of the free mes are useless.  Just, that's how I would've turned out in their situation."

"I don't think I would have turned out like Josh in his situation. He's a prick. Anyway, I'm not a Gemini, I'm a Libra."

"I don't know what that is."

"It's another star sign. There's twelve. Gemini and Libra and Capricorn and... Taurus and Leo..."

"Saggitarius, Pisces..."

"These are all out of order... Cancer, Virgo, Aries, Aquarius... that's eleven..."

"Scorpio!"

"Wow.  Your world is - twenty-four thousand years old, then?  Or twenty-five?  Ours is only six."

"Your world is six years old?"

"Dinosaurs lived millions of years ago, they say..."

"Six thousand, sorry - millions?"

"Yeah, I think they died sixty-five million years ago. And there were other dinosaurs longer ago."

"The universe is billions of years old, I think. I'm not a scientist."

". . . Okay.  Sorry for taking up so much of your attention.  I'll go - is there somewhere out of the way I can stay until you're done for the day?" Ellie asks the secretary.

"Hey, boss, can I have the rest of the day off, to show this ex-slave who I am very generously putting up at my place to the -"

"No," says her boss, "I think that might set a bad precedent and make me look like a pushover."

"Okay. Well, I can give you five bucks and you can go sit at the McDonald's around the corner, get a burger or something." She produces a fiver. "That way, turn right, golden arches."

"You're very kind."  Ellie folds up the shock blanket and hands it back to the person who gave it to her.  A restaurant sounds kind of much worse than having a supply closet or something to go cry in but she's hardly going to say anything.

The McDonald's is where she was directed! It has food and will accept her fiver for it if she wants some.

She would like a cup of tap water and some fries which she will eat one at a time, ketchupless.  Halfway through she gets nauseated and pauses eating to fold up the straw wrapper into a little right triangle and then unfolds it to doodle overlapping concentric circles.

If the secretary leaves her for long enough she'll eventually finish the fries and tear the carton they came in into increasingly tiny pieces, piled on the booth's table.

The secretary comes by after she's been in the McDonald's for an hour and a half. "Hey! How are you doing?"

"Fine, thank you."  She fumbles the change out of a pocket to hand back to the secretary and starts sweeping her carton bits into the meal's bag.

Secretary accepts change and occupies herself looking vaguely at the menu while Ellie gets ready to go. "My car's parked back at the station."

Ellie nods and after disposing of her bag follows.

"My name is Queenie Reynolds. I'm embarrassed that I didn't tell you that before," says, apparently, Queenie Reynolds.

"Oh.  Nice to meet you, I'm Ellie Mitchell.  . . . Did it just not come up or is that, you know.  Um."