Miss Eartha lets out a deep, rumbling laugh that clears several people out of her way without her even trying. The booth is manned by a man in his mid-sixties, an Andean woolen knit cap jammed down over his ears and wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose; he takes Tyler's order in heavily accented English and sets to work immediately in what must surely be the tiniest kitchen imaginable that's still usable by a normal human.