“Come on,” Reid said, dragging Zooey to a bus. She felt awkward, being dragged home by a moody and mysterious boy who was delusional to this decade’s fashion. She sat next to him on the bus, not taking the time to ask where they were going and drifted off in her mind, examining all the questions she held there, and infrequently she would hum the occassional Gary Numan song quietly to herself.

Before she was finished humming Down in the Park, Reid was slowly dragging Zooey out of the bus into a neighbourhood that was not frequented by Chinese take-aways, coin-operated laundromats and dingy five floor walk-ups, but with the antiquated architectural structures that she only could have dreamed of adventuring in.

The bus hummed out of sight and Reid led Zooey to a massive block building of penthouses and Italian marble. She stood at the base of the building, letting her head rise to the rooftop, almost indistinguishable in the bright sunlight and she silently mouthed the word, whoa.

“YOU LIVE HERE ?”