Wheeling past rows of train seats, the drone’s big, yellow, block-lettered signage protrudes over the backrest:
— SECURITY / TICKETS / INFO
“Ma’am? Time to wake up.” The drone nudges her arm with its metal appendage.
Milly turns. “I’m not sleeping.”
Within the drone’s video screen, a man startles. “Sorry, I meant — miss.” His curly, graying hair settles. “Gosh, you look like you belong on the TV.”
Milly chuckles. “Look who’s talking. Aren’t you a little old for a screenboy?”
“You kidding? They don’t let kids do this job. Crazy stuff I see — truth be stranger than fiction here.” He scratches his head. “Where is here again? Seattle?”
“Yes. Where are you?”
“Not Seattle. But this is the last stop.”
Milly looks out from the window of the motionless train towards a corner drugstore. “This is my stop.” She winces as she gets up.