Moreta wondered what Baklava was.  If it was half as good as the gyro, then she wanted one!  She had watched the young woman enter the room and found herself watching her as she made her way around the tables and up to her's.  She certainly was a dark beauty.  "I'll take a Baklava, and another one of these gyros.  As to being in a show, I don't think so.  Should I be?"  She had studied human television in school and knew that shows were a sort of broadcast story or social situation, mean for the pleasure of the watchers.  She felt flattered that the woman thought her to be an... what was the term, celebrity?<br/><br/>The man who had originally taken her order, and brought it out to her was headed toward the front door with his coat on.  He turned as he left and frowned at this 'Rodge'.  Moreta wondered what this Rodge had done to receive the man's displeasure.  He had been a bit surely with her as well.  Some beings were just born to be that way, she supposed.<br/><br/>He had also worn a tag with his name on it.  She wondered if it was the custom on this world, though she had not noticed them before now.  She reached into her little purse and came up with a plain sticker and a pen.  Placing the sticker on the table, she carefully spelled out Moreta in English script, before peeling the sticker off the backing and placing in on the left side of her chest.  Blending in, when one could, was important after all.  She did not wish to divert the time stream, or any such thing.  It was her first real trip by herself, in her own Tardis though, and the first place she had wanted to visit was Earth.  To think, it had only been sixty short years since she graduated the academy, and now they were trusting her with a Tardis!<br/><br/>A short distance across town, a man walked into an alley with a glazed look on his face.  He proceeded down the alley, moving stiffly, before arriving at a dead end.  He was a regular sort of bloke, with plastic rimmed spectacles, a bad comb-over and an ill-fitting business suit.  On the right side of his lapel was a small sticker with the words 'Hello, my name is Steven' and a small octagonal symbol.  He reached up, without looking where his finger was going, and touched the octagon.  Suddenly a door appeared in the black wall of the alley's end.  It was as ordinary a door as you could imagine, though it had not been there seconds before.  The man reached to open the door and then stepped through.