There’s a moment when the girl in the band whom you thought was just a singer swings back around with a bass on her hip. Aury’s decided that the only name for it is, simply, glee.

It’s a good feeling: she wants to share it. Maybe she could start a club? They’d only meet in the autumn, when the smell in the air makes you want to pick up a stick and go a-questing. They’d watch the part of High Fidelity where Tim Robbins eats a telephone over and over. They’d hit each other with telephones. They’d cackle, and bleed.