The signal is transmitted from an undisclosed location; rumor has it old man Lupin knows, but he’s not talking, not anymore, anyhow. Old man Lupin stares at the sky every night, like he’s waiting for something, something bad, to go down, but he never lets on exactly what; like I said, he’s not talking much anyhow. Then the signal fades and you never know if it’s coming back, which sort of scares me, because I think if it goes, that’s it, we’re done. The sky is this weird color I dreamed once, when I dreamed about her, and even in dreaming she turned away, which maybe I deserved, I dunno. Anyway, that’s all over and done with, I guess. These days, we just wait by the river. I don’t really know what we’re waiting for, or maybe it’s who, but we wait, and I have two pennies in the palm of my hand that I haven’t told the others about, just in case.