"One for the Echoes," Leo said, sliding his fifty through the slot.

The neon sign for the hummed with a low, electric buzz that matched the static in Leo’s head. He stood in line, clutching a crumpled fifty-dollar bill like a lucky charm.

Martha didn't check a tablet. She didn't ask for his email. She simply turned to a wooden rack, pulled out a heavy, cardstock ticket with holographic silver edges, and punched a button on an antique-looking register. "That'll be forty-five even," she said. Leo paused. "No service charge? No 'because-we-can' fee?"