Minutes pass.
She talks and you listen.
She's excited.
Smiling.
She tells you more and more.
Details. Stories. Opinions. Troubles. Openly.
But then there's a change.
She gets angry.
All of a sudden.
Then strangely guarded.
She gets inquisitive. Toward you. She gets mad. And mad again. Insulted by your ignorance. By your lack of insight. Or something else? Something you can't see? She gets distracted. That car next to you? That car that just pulled up? The noise coming from it? That music? 'Why does it suck so much!' she yells, through gritted teeth. Really yells this. Then laughs. Pointedly. Barely controlled. Almost frenzied. At the car, at the driver, at the music: Chuck Jackson's 'Any Day Now,' playing real loud, and probably too loud for anyone driving a late '80s Honda Accord DX with crackling speakers and a stereo unable to support the volume. She can't take it. She can't take any more of this. She's gotta get out of here. Gotta get the fuck out of here before she goes insane. She yells at you, then again at the driver, who has his windows rolled down and can definitely hear everything she says. But the driver. He doesn't look mad, doesn't even look surprised as he turns off his car and just stares at her, unmoving, and either unmoved or awestruck. She looks over at him and says 'Fuck. You. And your shitty music.' Gets up and starts walking away. And you look around — at Danny, her friend; and at your photographer, your friend — and they just sort of shrug without a word and get up to follow her. You follow her, too. Because you just never know. You never know what's going to happen. Especially with ....