Twentysomething breaths down under the Queensboro Bridge, where the Island Kingdom swirls into homogenous obscurity, ugly florescent lights are flickering on and off, on and off like swaying cigarette lighters at a classic rock concert, at a sold-out arena, the steel ceiling gushing tears of unrequited rust as a lone guitar shrieks, as a double bass drum pummels itself to grief, as a hopelessly romantic power ballad serenades the massive ship with the screwball sorrows of young Zoe—the girl who would be famous. The peeping tomboy who would like definitely definitely be richer than rich . . .