Ruby's Diner

It's the smell.  I've been in a hundred different greasy spoons across the Complex, and not one of them feels right.  Not like Ruby's.  Ruby's always smells like... I don't know.  It smells right.

I know it's not good for my cholesterol, but I always like to pop in to the nearest diner after a job.  Piece of pie, some bacon... a beer if they serve it.  Synthehol if I have to.  It's a ritual.  Had a Shaman I ran with once or twice, taught me the importance of rituals.  His usually involved a bear.  I prefer the bacon.

Tonight's job is a traditional gig.  Package delivery, from Chicago to the District of Manhattan, no more than a few hours ride.  Big money, for such a small gig.  Maybe that's why I'm at Ruby's now, instead of waiting until it's all done for.  Maybe I'm worried. Maybe I'm getting to old for this kind of gig.  Maybe I just wanted some pie.

The pie at Ruby's is terrible.  I guess that might be what it is, after all.  Ruby's has awful pie, and worse coffee.  And... it smells like home.