Greg was sitting nearby, doing a crossword puzzle, when the vibrantly red hair passed in his peripheral vision. He instinctively glanced up.
In moments of boredom, the medical examiner liked to play a morbid little game, ingeniously named, how will my neighbors end up on the table? He took a few things into consideration, such as age, gender, appearance, and apparent lifestyle choices. The man beside him in the Mocha, for example, was in fifties with a swollen, rutted nose and flush cheeks that were mapped with thin purple veins. He would most likely end up on the table due to liver disease. That's how the game was played, and Dr. Greg Morrow guessed with surprising accuracy. Some might even call it a talent.
Loki was next to be unknowingly sized up for death. In a flurry of precise eye movements, Greg examined him.
He was a partier, judging by his clothes. So, alcohol poisoning? Drug overdose? No, too obvious.