She finally looked at me. Behind her glasses, her eyes were not the soft, forgetful eyes that asked me twice a week if I’d eaten. These were the eyes of a general. A lighting director. A woman who had stared into the abyss of 512 DMX channels and decided to rearrange them.

The neighbors complained. The HOA sent a letter. She ignored it.

She bought actual lights. Not Christmas lights. Professional lights. A second-hand Chauvet 4-bar. Two moving heads she found on Craigslist for $200 each. A hazer that filled her entire condo with a thin, theatrical fog that set off the smoke alarm seven times in one week.