You grab two eggs from the fridge and crack them onto the griddle, frying up the bottoms and then flipping them, before bringing them out on a plate with a side of toast.
The Grim Reaper pokes into the yolk, letting it run out across and digs into the eggs.
“You know,” they say wiping their mouth, “these are some pretty amazing over easy eggs.”
“Thanks,” you say.
“Do you mind if I take a picture of you? I’ve got a blog on diners I love to visit!”