The creature sitting at the table behind George was wearing a human form, but George was not fooled. The whatever-it-was managed to sniffle in perfect time, but with a slightly different timbre and pitch to each sniffle, as though it were a slow, mucous-filled symphony he were composing. At the same time, he was clacking madly at a keyboard, giving a maddening soundtrack to George's desperate attempts to study. This was not just some guy, some dude; this was a machine. He could not be stopped, only avoided or fled.