"Here I go again on my own" by White Snake pounded through the Charger's speakers, unwinding somewhat wobbly off the eighty-eighth mix tape he had made for her. The box with it's picture of the retreat house at the KID (Kool Informative Dogma) Christian weekend. A sweet perfume snaked out from Molly's white starched collar. She had not been wearing stockings despite sub zero temperatures. The car clock flipped to 12:00, as if rolling its green eyes at Barry. His finger caught in Molly's tangled necklace, raw leather twisted scapular, its faded images of the Virgin poking up just above her collar upside down.