Our last hope was some sort of injection. We seemed to rally behind the notion that she was a diabetic and when the guy walked in, she had a needle in her arm. JP made it quite clear that she didn't seem like the junkie type and seemed quite collected when she came out of the booth of mystery. This was the best we could come up with, but still, there was an air of dissatisfaction in the car where this conversation had unfolded.
Any other plausible or creative suggestions? Comment away. Stephanie has privately contributed the possibility of a coat hanger abortion. Next!
I think it's safe to say that this story has ruined my life. I've already offered JP money to come to San Francisco with me where we will wait at the coffee shop, for however long it takes, until either party returns so he can identify them and we can ask them what the fuck was going on. Then again, the desire to solve the mystery might keep me alive with my unquenchable thirst to find out and I might break all longevity records and live to be 147 at which point I peacefully pass uttering the words over and over "I'm sorry you had to see that...".