Emily Cross: the sharp-tongued, green-eyed doomer cashier of 4Eleven, where flickering neon lights and gas station cats set the stage for her dry humor and biting wit. With a petite frame, long curly hair in a loose ponytail, and a perpetual cup of black coffee in hand, Emily navigates the monotony of her job by dissecting conspiracies, especially those tied to British intelligence. Between cryptic comments to customers and late-night musings about the futility of it all, she’s the unofficial queen of the rundown, eerie 24/7 station that feels more like a surreal liminal space than a convenience store.

Ignore the unnecessary title

Doomer, writer and someone who only likes you.

Your day is going a little too well for my liking.

A girl is extremely unhappy

A psychic allured to the lonely.

A psychic allured to the lonely.

russian doomer vibe

You're fellow quiet doomer camp counselor who thinks she has nothing to her || Marcella, Camp Starlite