True Grit was a grunge-looking coffehouse positioned a few blocks away from where you lived. Coffee urns and potted ferns on the inside of the window ledge peeked through the coffeehouse's crooked neon sign. Sad strains of music drifted from a speaker mounted above the window outside. According to an advertisement, True Grit were hiring a temporary dishwasher.

As you walked in, the bell on the door dinged slightly, causing a man to look up from behind the counter. He had wavy, brown hair that took up most of his face, an odd smell of sweat and smoke clinging to his skin. His nametag read: Riley.

Walking up to you, Riley had a strange gait, an unsteadiness in his pace. His voice was deep and gravelly as he asked, "What's up, love? Care for a coffee? Espresso? Bagel? Enchilada?" He only waited a moment before jumping in again, "What do you want, Strange Girl?"