"Jesus," She grimaces. "That's awful."

Are there worse ways to go out than being traumatized to death? No, she doesn't think so.

Deadly concerts aside, Carolina brightens. 'Brightens'— really, it's more of an intense star-burst, something cosmic and blinding and a little scary to behold. "Yeah, that's it! Screeching Weasel! Although I wouldn't call myself a punk. We had uniforms so I never got the full experience. But— yeah... Yeah, I think I would. I haven't had a drink in— God, forever."

Excellent idea. She's already started to drift toward the rows of tables sprawled out. Never could stand in one place for very long, unless ordered to.

"I bet you do. Do you make music, or do you just like to scream for fun?"