The brakes on city bus 29 squealed as it lurched to a stop. The narrow double doors folded open allowing a young woman to cautiously step off to the sidewalk below. She reached into the pocket of her long grey wool coat and extracted a ruffled scrap of paper "251 west 139th street, apartment 4" she read its lone scribble aloud with a British accent. Looking around at the addresses on nearby buildings, she stepped forward, nearly bumping into a passerby. "Excuse me." she apologized. "My name is Anne Reece, I wanted to talk to you about a story." --- --- "Are you a science fiction writer too?" ---