I can so perfectly picture Eddie as this doordasher wearing that shirt

He is. So So Tired, just to start off the day. Did not sleep at all the night before because first he was in the zone perfecting his latest campaign but then he went a little overboard with the villain's backstory; then he realized that if his party didn't question specific people and roll high enough persuasion to get this information, he wouldn't get to tell this story. So then he went on to craft an npc bard who would be singing about the villain and- wait he's a songwriter. Oh how sick would it be if he had his players in a tavern or something after they defeated the Big Bad and then Eddie, at the table, could take out his guitar and play that song to tell the villain's tragic backstory? Amazing, showstopping, incredible. Except he was almost done writing a song he could play on his acoustic that would sound kind of medieval-ly when he realized- wait this is good, actually. What the fuck. He should make a real song out of this for Corroded Coffin. And when he finally tries to go to sleep he keeps laying wide awake with ideas for a whole concept album from the viewpoint of the Bard and-

Point is he's borderline delirious when he gets dressed to dash to some doors - enough that when he looks at the “if she sits on your face, she legally owns you…. Squatters rights and all that” on the shirt Jeff got him for his birthday he giggles for a minute straight while getting dressed and then on and off again until he's in his van.

He loses some time in the routine of getting people their shit and driving until he rings a bell and a distracted pin-up angel from jock-heaven opens the door in some ratty green basketball shorts and nothing else unless you count the t-shirt he's decidedly not wearing but using to wipe... flour? And something else? From his face.

"Hi, sorry, give me a second - I don't care that you're old enough to drive, Henderson! You don't touch another thing in that kitchen until I'm back or I swear to God- give me a second, I want to give you the tip in cash, that's better for you, right?" "...Huh? Yeah, it's- yeah" Sue him, Eddie's distracted. There's hairy chest right in front of his sleep-deprived face and he's considering his conversion to becoming a tits man - except in that moment the (literally) dirty angel turns away and oh Jesus Christ. Yeah, no, still an ass man. Oh wow.

He loses some time again and when he's all there once more he's holding a marker and has just - in view of his future owner, fingers crossed - blacked out the "S" on his shirt so it says "if ■he sits on your face, ■he legally owns you" instead. He's still trying to figure out how this happened and if the surprised look on his doordashee's face is leaning good or bad when fucking Dustin Henderson walks around the corner.