Mike is just leaving the post office when he runs into Amy. He's shy and frail and she's beautiful and strong, so he knows she won't even recognize him, let alone say hello. He doesn't even bother to look her way as they pass, not able to live through the agony of rejection, even if it's momentary and all through the eyes. Besides, he has an hour to make it to the bank before they close and he has no time for chit chat. No time to reminisce about high school like they were the good ol' days.

He's about to pass her, he's passing her, he's just passed her when she grabs his arm. She grabs his arm hard, the way his mother used to in the grocery store when he was acting out. This wasn't a friendly grab. Neither is Amy's.

"Hey," she says in a gutteral whisper. "I remember you. You're Mike, from biology."

It was actually chemistry, but he wasn't about to correct her.

"You wanna see something? Something really, really fucked up?" She says this with a slightly sexy rise of her left eyebrow. Not raise, rise. Her eyebrow practically levitates.

"Of course," is all Mike can stammer. She tightens her grip on his arm and without word yanks him toward the alley.

"My car's around here. You won't fucking believe this."

She drags Mike around the corner, pulling him along at a fast clip, toward the '78 Camaro tucked neatly into a spot between a Taurus and a big rig.

She pops the trunk. The first thing that strikes Mike is the smell. Then the glow. A greenish blueish glow coming from beneath some black plastic cover inside the trunk.

"Come here. Look," she says.

Mike steps forward, leaning over the lip of the trunk to see.