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“He went to your concert last night,” says the phone tearfully, “and we’re looking everywhere–”

Dusty hears a noise beneath his feet and snaps the phone shut. “Stowaway!” he shouts.

Snozz lunges from his bunk, revolver already blowing holes in the floor. Dusty scrambles to the driver, who’s yelling “What the shit! What the SHIT!”

“Pull over,” Dusty orders.

“I will if he doesn’t shoot out my brake line! Why is–”

“Kids grow up too fast on a tour bus,” says Dusty grimly.


“You don’t understand,” says Dusty. The bus does stop then, very suddenly. It begins to tilt forward.