Rube was sat with his back to the wall as usual, his journal open and his post it's stacked. It was a habit that felt as old as time, even though it wasn't even as old as his time on this gig. Fifty years ago he'd never even heard of a post it, or anything as off as this place.
He chewed slowly on his pancakes and tried ridiculously hard not to like them as this could never be 'Der Waffelhause' but the food. He had to forgive the food