By the time Carly turned around again, Tzich was sitting in the seat she had just vacated, chewing slowly, savoring, a bitten piece of rubbery black omelet in his fingers. He sucked the buttery grease from his thumb. "I know you believe me," he told her as he examined the odd colored shapes in the burnt egg. "Your life makes sense when you know the devil is your father. You're still convinced you'll convince yourself otherwise."

He swallowed. Took a long whiff of onion and cilantro-cinnamon. Licked the omelet like an ice pop, dropped it back in the pan and surged out of his seat with a sudden sharp-eyed ferocity. He grabbed her hand and dragged her to the door with long firm strides. "Your smell is good but it's not enough to [i]taste[/i] it," he hissed in a determined passion. "Your humanity gets in the way of your [i]strength[/i]."

He grabbed the doorknob and began to throw it open in a dramatic display of showing the way to Carly's true life -- only the door was locked and deabolted, and he frowned and yanked at it pitifully.