You go back to the big stovetop and drizzle some oil that begins sizzling and a handful of grated potatoes, spreading the thin layer across in a large circle. The potatoes begin to crisp up, turning golden and then brown before you flip them over with your spatulas, maintaining their shape and executing a perfect flip. 

After another minute or so, they reach that perfect level of crispiness and you slide them onto a plate. The Grim Reaper looks up from their smartphone as you approach, laying the plate in front of them with a bottle of ketchup before presenting a knife, fork and napkin, bundled up hours ago.

The Grim Reaper looks at you and picks up the glass bottle of ketchup and shakes it with nothing dropping immediately. You wait awkwardly, not wanting to correct a grim figment of death on how to get the ketchup out. Eventually though, they find the perfect angle and release a crimson dollop onto the hash browns. They pick up the fork, grab a bite, opening their jaw. Somehow they both chew and swallow without making a mess.


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