“This town has no scene,” says Maddox as he slaps down the Arts & Entertainment Pullout. “Scene morkus est.”

“Almost positive that’s not Latin.” Tiscali flips it open: the only bands it lists are tour acts and tributes.

“We can’t run a label when all the local talent is… is skating! Or covering the Gin Blossoms.” Maddox pulls at his hair. “Where’s the Scotch?”

“You can have root beer,” says Tiscali, and thinks, the scene’s not gone. It’s just got no air. The sparks don’t die; there will be new bands–gasping, drowning, dying as they rise. The scene’s a phoenix underwater.