A girl sits down next to me on the bus. She is small, has braces, and hasn't brushed her hair today. She is wearing a large, green flannel shirt. Under her arms there is a 3-ring binder, covered with ripped drawings and photographs taped to it, along with the occasional wisp of paint. She has a few canvases with her. Her hands are covered in streaks of black paint, and her fingernails have chipped black nail polish on them. Her nose is pierced.

The boy sitting across from us, who I have seen many times on this bus before, asks her what one of her paintings is. She tells him. I ask her if she goes to NSA.

"How did you know?!"