"Only if the top contender doesn't have some kind of tragic, unforeseen accident," Ed says mildly. He glances back at the shower and plays with the door, considering it thoughtfully. "Probably. It has almost everything else. I think I saw an espresso maker option on the shower head. Hit the wrong button and make yourself into a latte."

She's little and - while Ed doesn't know everyone in Portland - clearly not from around here. She also doesn't seem to have recognized him at all. At least, not yet. His radar for that isn't as keen as he'd like to boast about, but he has not yet been, say, spat on. And it doesn't feel like she's fucking with him either. It's almost like he's a regular person. A regular person who lurks ominously in shower-stalls at hardware stores. Yeah.