Booker

Maybe just two eggs, not chicken.

Some other egg-laying creature.

I'd eat just a quick, small breakfast.

And I think I'd go outside and I'd find a...

like the equivalent of a bicycle, like a pedal speeder, if you will.

And I think I would cycle to the office and all this traffic is flying by me.

And even though it's off the ground, it's hovered vehicles, somehow they always seem to hit the same puddle every day as I'm coming by.

And the grab disrupts the puddle and it splashes me all across my outfit as I'm cycling into the office.

Until I get there and join Berger.

I keep picturing the 40-year-old Berger, where he liked bicycles everywhere.

Yeah.

I was thinking of Suits.

I was thinking of Mike from Suits.

Always rode his, had his satchel and rode his bicycle to the, like, trillion dollar law firm.

And I don't mean a spare room as an extra room.

I mean a room that is spartan with very few items in it.

No mattress, no anything.

But this is the place where she centers herself, meditates, and thinks about the machinations of Arcadia and the planes beyond.

She would wake up and quickly, utilitarianly take care of herself, dress herself in her long robes, make sure that her hat is well affixed onto her head, and then she would plot.

Then she'd quickly feed the poor man who lives underneath her hutch, and then she would be able to jump into her spaceship, a huge, massive ship that would launch into outer space.