You pull your chair out to sit, watching her closely the whole time, figuring she'll wake up immediately. When she doesn't, you relax back into your chair. A sip of the juice; bitter and supersweet, but not too bad. The fruit is stronger than the synthets. You set the glass down on the wooden table, eyes still locked on her head, expecting the stir. She does a big huff of an exhale but still doesn't move. Oh well. Leaning back again, you take the egg in your hand. It's heavier than it looks. You take a bite. It's perfectly cooked. And completely bland. You close your eyes and feel the nutrients percolate into your cells. It's pleasant and warm. The sun still hasn't reached the balcony directly, but you can feel it bouncing off the wall across the way. You quietly finish the whole egg.