The knock on his cabin door broke the mountain silence. He rose from his chair and answered. Four young women stood on the porch.
“Our truck broke down,” the tallest one said. “Do you have a phone we could use?”
He shook his head. “No phones up here.”
The stoplight felt endless. I flipped through the radio dial—sick of the same old stuff—and paused at a soft hits station. It blared some power ballad from the 80’s. Not my music. I reached for the dial but hesitated, vaguely captivated by the hypnotic mélange of synthesizer, melodramatic falsetto, mechanical drumbeat.