<div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="background-color:#2e2e32; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;"><div style="background-color:#9966cb; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;"><span style="font-family: Century Gothic;"><img alt="" src="http://i.imgur.com/WWtSggu.png" style="float:left; padding:6px;"/><span style="color: #000000">Listeners, those of you with particularly sharp eyes have been reporting an outsider nearing the Moonlite All-Nite Diner. Actually, scratch that. The outsider has <span style="font-style: italic">entered</span> the Moonlite All-Nite Diner. Please, listeners, behave appropriately. I know she looks threatening, but everything new looks threatening to the frightened human eye. Pizarro, anyone? Columbus? Yeugh. Don't be Columbus, even if he did have an impeccable fashion sense according to the only history book students at Night Vale High are allowed to briefly look at. Instead, embrace the outsider. Show her what a good Night Vale time can be! Remember, clubs are a fourth date kind of thing, so leave your baseball bats at home for now.<br/><br/>And now, a word from our sponsors!<br/><br/>Are you just tired all the time? I mean like, really tired? Really, really tired, not just from physical labor, but of life in general? Just - tired of everything? Tired of breathing. Tired of existing. Tired of maybe not existing as much as you'd like to. Well, we can't help with that, but we <span style="font-style: italic">can</span> help you fulfill your vitamin C needs! JP's OJ: A fresh batch from the freshest harvest of interdimensional oranges! Do not peel, touch, or attempt to consume the oranges in any way. They'll do all the work for you! JP's OJ: Death is not the only way out!<br/></span></span></div><div style="background-color:#101010; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;">The still seething Martin had left his home on a quest for caffeine, a critical part of his life. Without it, he just didn't feel whole. His mind would drift away, out of his ears and up, up, up and disappear among the arrows in the sky. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a black van moving as he heard the purr of an engine coming to life. They had probably heard his thoughts, and he cursed inwardly. The van behind him gave an indignant honk. It was probably Rebecca inside. She was such a prude. The van behind him came to an abrupt halt, then sped past him, clearly insulted.<br/><br/>The Moonlite All-Nite Diner did not have the best coffee in Night Vale, but Martin simply did not have the energy to venture into the barista district just yet. It was too damn early, and he couldn't find his pickaxe, anyway. Had that girl from social studies borrowed it? He huffed, and his long fringe blew forward. People were so goddamn tiring.<br/><br/>A chime that sounded like a mix of paper being flipped rapidly and a thousand snipping scissors greeted him upon his entry to the diner. An attempt at modernization, perhaps, or maybe something had broken or the bell had been set up incorrectly. He liked it. Slipping into a booth as far into a corner as he could get, he sat and waited, shoulders slumped, head down. The last bit of a jingle for another commercial sounded from the loudspeakers mounted in the mint green ceiling. Martin was glad he had missed it.</div></div></div>