lil enters and says, "Is this seat taken? Are you waiting for anyone?"
"Why, are you - are you the famous field agent Lilian Snow?"
"Yes, I am - or at least rather, I believe I may be. You see, the other day I received this mysterious postcard: And now, as I was strolling through the streets of Hubski, just now, I felt a most particular urge, as if I ought to come in here and wait for someone. It seemed to emanate - from the postcard itself! I can only imagine it must be some kind of compulsion, set upon the object by its mystical sender. When you entered, the feeling ceased. So let us talk. What is on your mind?" (OOC: my power has just gone out and I'd really like it to come back on?)
I received strange card as well. It depicts a Canadian brilliance overwhelming the universe. The Great White North has become an arid desert; Greenland and Baffin Island have defrosted and sunk. A mysterious inscription is the only clue as to how to understand this Earth-finishing image. Could it be an anagram for the DAMNED FUN OIL which overwarmed the globe? Or a warning, FILM NO UNDEAD from a zombie cohort tired of Hollywood stereotypes? Or some kind of cruel joke, O FINE MUD LAND.