I forget a lot of shit, but I don't think I'd forget a seven-foot cow-woman. [Or a friend.]

[She looks uncharacteristically thoughtful, though, chewing on her lip. Her fingers fidget, pulling the pile of books up against her chest.]

...Would you? If you knew there was another you out there who...

I mean, is that even anything to do with me? It's just someone with my face, right?

[And it's also none of his business, and she shouldn't be opening up to him like this, but sometimes it's hard not to. At least he's a stranger, and if it goes to shit, she can just... never come back here again.]