I awake around two o'clock in the morning, incapable of grasping sleep. For once it isn't for fear of the second coming of those ghastly dreams with which many of the citizens of Night Vale are plagued. Those dreams that break your sleep with a cold sweat and a mind forgetful of their contents.

My bedroom window glows with the lights from Radon Canyon, just outside of the town's limits. In my honest opinion, it appears to be some sort of laser show. The beams fly high into the sky and then fall to the ground in a rhythmic pattern. I have never been to the canyon before. My lungs wouldn't be up for the challenge.

Tonight I think about what I'm going to order at lunch tomorrow with Adrienne. I think about Adrienne, the person, as well.

Morning comes.

"Take me bowling! It's going to be super hot today! I even heard from Jenny at school that it's half price now that Mr. Williams found a secret underground city beneath the town center." Aurora states at breakfast with every ounce of her seven years of maturity. Her feet dangle from the high barstool at the kitchen counter.

I pour her a bowl of frosted mini wheats, the strawberry kind. "How do you know it's going to be hot today? I haven't heard a real forecast since moving here. And Mr. Williams has a couple of screws loose, in my opinion, but I never said that."

"It's going to be hoooot, Roxy!" she declares, skirting around my question and shoving a spoon full of fiber-rich cereal into her little mouth.

I lean on the counter, buttering a crusty roll. "Tell you what," I finally say, "If you go and visit Miss Josie for the day and help her around the house, I'll take you bowling after I get back from lunch."

Aurora makes a sour face. "But those Angels that follow her around scare me. Besides, they help her with chores so she doesn't really need me."

"Even little old ladies who live near the car lot need actual human interaction, Rora. Think about how happy you will make her."

She chugs half a glass of orange juice. I don't correct her. She may even need fruit juice chugging skills to save her life some day. Who knows? This is Night Vale, after all.

"Fiiiiiiine," she finally replies, "But I want honey wings when we go! They're free with the bowling, anyways…"

I wave my hand dismissively. "Yeah, sure. I don't really eat them anyways."

Aurora smiles, a thin line of milk trailing from the corner of her mouth. She wipes it with her sleeve. "What are you going to wear on your date?"

I hand her a napkin. "It's not a date, Rora. It's just lunch with a fr—"

"It is so a date," she replies, finding some sort of insatiable need to correct me. "I think you should wear that Loyd teeshirt! It's pretty."

I pause from chewing to think about which shirt this may be.

"You don't mean the Pink Floyd teeshirt, do you?"

She drops her spoon into her bowl of milk with a clang. "Yah! The pink shirt!"

"The fact the shirt is pink is either coincidental or meant to be ironic… well, not ironic, I guess the opposite of that. The word 'Pink' is in the name of the band; it was very hard to find one of their shirts in that color."

Aurora nods. I doubt she understands. "Okay, wear the pink Pink Loyd shirt."

"Floyd. Repeat after me. Floyd."

"Ffffffloyd." Some particles of food fly from her mouth. Being a child, she is unbothered by this.

I gesture for her to put the bowl in the sink. "Go get yourself ready. I'll drop you off at Josie's house along the way."

After leaving Aurora at Night Vale's resident Angel headquarters, I take the opportunity to drive into downtown before noon and go shopping at some of the comparatively "normals" stores. I decide to first stop into the Old Navy outlet, its only flaw being the poltergeist that occasionally haunts changing room six.

The air conditioning is a welcome relief to the late morning heat. I nod politely to the clerk behind the counter at the front of the store. She seems to do a double take as I pass by, but does not return the gesture.

A small child and his mother pass by as I work my way among the racks. I smile and wave down at the little boy. He gapes at me, seeming to glimpse into my soul as his mouth opens in what appears to be silent terror. His mother urges him to follow her. No one says a word.

I make my way to the shelf full of half-price denim in a secluded portion at the back of the large shop, considering what cut of jean would look best on me. I'm fairly tall, I figure, so there's a lot I could pull off…

Aaaand that's not a size ten.

That's not denim.

So what am I holding in my hands?

I look up. It's a cloak. A cloak most definitely not made of denim. The hooded figure points to me as I am hypnotized by the glow beneath his cowl.

I'm pretty sure that's not my landlord.