We've all been there; alone on the graveyard shift, manning the counter at some convenience store in the belly of the city.. The clock on the wall reads quarter 'til three and it's almost quiet enough to hear the cranky buzzing of the neon sign hanging in the window. Outside, separated from us by the false comfort of thin glass, there is darkness, the lulling patter of rain, drunken shouts dimmed by distance, sirens, and the bang of a gunshot far too close. There hasn't been a customer for over an hour and our gaze strays to the book rack by the counter. Whether to Oz, or Lilliput, or Wandil Land, we look to leave this gray reality behind and travel to a place that never was or will be, forgetting the sounds of the night until the bell on the door dings again and we look up to face another stranger.