She asked the old question: "Are you lost?" It sounded foolish, but the words dropped into the air and opened like a trapdoor. The walls shivered, the floor hummed, and the star-map in the glass box pulsed. The jukebox went silent. For the first time since the calendar blinked 03:19, Bunny Girl—39 felt that the city had been listening.

Bunny Girl—39 didn’t. She knew how to patch a tear in her jacket, how to reprogram a vending machine with a paperclip and bravado, but not this. It occurred to her, absurdly, that a life spent busking for coins and lies was a good training ground for cosmic customs. "I am a person," she said. "Not a packet."

Bunny Girl—39's Strange Alien Adventure