You ask for a table.
The waiter seems derisive, but he takes you to one, anyway.
You sit down. Your stomach rumbles.
You order a full plate of eggs, bacon, and potatoes.
The waiter dashes away.
You look across the booth.
It's you.
Kind of.
What seems to be a clone of you stares back.
Its eyes are red, like it's been crying.
"Hello," it says.
"I'm going crazy," you say.
"Probably," it says. "But I have answers."
You cross your arms. "Do I care?"
"The waiter just called the police."
"Figures."
"Either you hear me out, or not. Doesn't matter."
32: Hear your clone out
33: Don't