Amy knew it was time for a change.

She could feel the pressure of the city against her chest. The constant cacophony of car horns and endless chatter filled her brain every second of every day; she could hardly think. The smells—the smog, the smoke, the shit—swirling up and filling her apartment until she couldn’t breathe. And the lights—the constant light, day and night, never fully disappearing, even as she closed her eyes.

All of it gave her one fucking persistent migraine.

“I need to get the hell out, Jil,” she said, phone wedged between her shoulder and her ear. She shoved a couple t-shirts, a pair of jeans, and a fist-full of panties into a suitcase, along with her typewriter. “I’m going up to Aunt Clara’s cabin.”

“Just be careful, Amy,” came Jil’s voice, tinny and almost-incomprehensible through the phone. “You’ve never been up there alone.”

Amy snorted into the phone. “No, but we’ve been up there a thousand times. What’s the worst that could happen?”

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