Ani’s subwoofer had been stolen by a party guest, who left only cigarette butts in its place, so most of her music these days was loaded with treble. The lack of bass in her life distorted her inner frequencies to the point that she almost couldn’t hear the knocking.

She cracked the door. It was Milos, in all his pasty, sullen glory. His apologetic posture was not enough to fill the doorway.

“I finished you a mix,” he managed from under a wave of hair. “You asked a while back, so…”

“No – yeah, I remember. Thanks! Thanks, Milos,” Ani answered sweetly. It was still a game to her, but not like before. In the beginning she had worried about coming on too strongly, only to realize that Milos is not of this planet and therefore does not respond to the usual human stimuli.

He lifted his head. “You’re welcome. It’s got some stuff I know you like, but mostly random things. Anyway.” He finally handed over the tape.

Who used actual cassette tapes anymore? Milos did, because to Milos that was the only way to roll.