“He’d stopped trying to bring her back.  She only came back when she felt like it, in dreams and lies and broken-down deja vu. Like, he’d be driving to work, and he’d see a girl with red hair standing on the corner – and he’d swear, for half a choking moment, that it was her.  Then he’d see that the girl’s hair was more blond than red.  And that she was holding a cigarette… And wearing a Sex Pistols T-Shirt. Eleanor hated the Sex Pistols.” Eleanor knew she was done for the moment she stepped on the bus. She knew she’d be target practice for the vultures. New in town…