In a bubblegum top with heavily bleached hair she stood facing the passers-by, among the cluster of wooden benches, still damp from the afternoon's rain, singing along to the portable radio. "There will be an answerrrr, let it bee-eeeee."
Her weather-worn friends, resting against the bicycle racks and benches, the entirety of their possessions in plastic bags at their feet, cheered her on as they tried to pass the bottles discreetly among themselves. And everyone else hurried on by, trying their hardest to appear as though they didn't notice this woman singing her heart out.
"You're a rock star, baby," the other woman cackled, taking a drag from her cigarette. And she was.