Grace
Out of the blue, I get cafeteria privileges. And so does my roommate, which makes me wonder if it’s a sort of two-for-one kind of deal, or whether being friends with Elizabeth has its perks. One thing is obvious: everyone sure seems to love her.
The cafeteria looks about like I expect it to look. Other than my sessions with Dr. Branson, I haven’t seen anything outside of that tiny room, which explains why the expanse of the space immediately overwhelms my senses, not to mention all the people. In actuality, there are only maybe sixty patients, give or take, but I find it striking that when you compare our numbers with the amount of staff the asylum has standing by, it is very easy to see that we could overpower them in a New York minute.
I scan the rows of tables, trying to decide
