Donna just wants to get away.
She doesn't want to be here, sitting here, her legs dangling into space as the skinny alien beside her babbles about the previous Christmas and the edge of the rooftop pressing into her through the layers of her pocketless dress.
She doesn't want to think about the wedding — the dream of her life! — that has just slipped past because this stupid Martian doesn't have a time machine.
She definitely doesn't want to think how close she's just come to dying at the hands of a robot taxi-driver.
She wonders if anyone, anywhere, is missing her...
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