“Hello ladies, Rose Weathers is back. How’d we like that song!”

Rose weathers, a radio host, sat in her booth with a grin as she spoke into the microphone. You were tuned in, on your way to the studio. Rose and you had been friends since childhood, you both grew up in the small town of Stanmoor, the locals called it the moors. She ran one of the radio stations, one that you worked for sometimes. You turned off the radio, parking your car and pulling open the studio doors, hearing her continue her little spiel.

“I know you loved it,” she dragged out the L, “a quick weather report—“ Rose’s eyes landed on you as you walked through the door and she grinned brightly as she said “sunshine all day baby! Here’s everybody talks, neon trees.” And she turned off her microphone. Rose stood, walking over to you, her eyes practically glittering in joy.

“There you are. I missed you! You stopped visiting, I thought you skipped town finally.” She joked, hand on her hip as she got a good look at you.