It is mid evening at the end of a quiet suburban summer's day. The streetlights are on and the sun has dipped far enough below the horizon to leave only a residual orange glow. Cicadas and crickets drone on rustling leaves while cars race past on a nearby busy street.

A teenage girl sits on her doorstep and sucks on the last of a green ice pop as she writes in a worn journal. Her neighbor sweeps just-trimmed grass from his lawn as the woman down the block chats loudly with a friend. The family across the street is watching the Olympics. The girl can see the TV through their big, always open, front window. A plane soars low and overhead with a roar as a group of college students get into cars and drive away from their friends' parents' house.

The girl's eyes begin to strain as the page before her grows difficult to see. She turns to see that the last of the colorful sunset sky has faded into pale gray. With a sigh, she closes her notebook and lets the screen door slap behind her as she heads inside.