Jupiter Quigley has a hot dog in each hand. One is covered in gravy-like chili, onions, mustard and slaw, the other is plain with ketchup and mustard. She alternates bites from each, seeming pleased with this arrangement, and also with watching the silver spray painted man get ignored by everyone walking by him.

When she goes in for another bite of not-ludicrously-topped hot dog, some of the slaw sloughs off the other one and lands with a splat on the ground. She is extremely nonplussed and has the look of someone who takes the five second rule as gospel truth.