George would never forgive Rube for ex-naying her ar-cay; but then again, Death still had to pay for gas, and she probably would have gone broke if she'd driven from Seattle. All the same, she missed the convience of her Mustang when she needed to get from Point A to Point All The Fucking Way Across Town. The LA public transportation system was even more cramped and full of weirdness and screaming babies and drooling old people than the ones back home.
"Unfortunate because you totaled your car, or because the guards in large hats came after you on the assumption you're a self-hating, government-building crashing Anglican?" She inquired, checking her watch again. She was just going to have to reach out and pop the soul at this rate.
There was another pause following the question. "I'm sort of on vacation. A working vacation." She looked at the clock on the wall abouve the barrista. "But thank you for the off--" She was trying to work herself up for a trip-and-touch, when a voice from the door bellowed out.