The sun had set hours ago, but it was still light when the short, blue-haired girl walked out of her house. She pulled a pair of black-rimmed glass out of her canvas Warhol bag, contemplated them for a moment, rubbed the lenses against her dark jeans, then slipped them on. Down the street she could see the long city bus pulling up to its stop. She hurried to catch it, climbed on, dropped a few coins into the metal box at the front of the bus, and, not wanting to be bothered by the others on the bus, who talked of nothing but Avril Lavigne, or Kelly Clarkson, or some well-known “singer” like that every single morning, Emily walked to the very back of the bus. She pulled out a small white laptop, opened up a media player, put on some headphones and began to watch a short film she’d recorded at the last event she had gone to. This one had been in downtown Albany, a bit of a trek from her home in Damariscotta, but worth it. Suddenly the bus jolted up in the air.