The pirate ship that was San Francisco in 1980 is gone. Everyone is dead. The party's over. The guitars are silent. The lights are out, the curtains closed.
I'm the only one left to tell the tale, which could make me the heroine, but I wasn't. I'm not.
In the beginning there were people everywhere, but in the end it was just me. Resoundingly, deafeningly, silently, alone.
Life became so quiet that the hiss of blood being sucked into a syringe roared like Niagara Falls.