She watched the green blur of trees pass by through the clear circle she had made on the window surrounded by condensation. Old tunes of dead rock stars filled the car. Her dad tapped out the rhythms of Kurt Cobain, Jimi Hendrix and Freddie Mercury on the steering wheel. The music filled any empty gaps in conversation. They didn’t have much to talk about any more once she grew too old to listen to stories of princess’ and foreign princes. She watched the rain start up again, following the paths of droplets down the closed glass, enjoying the partial silence.