Turn 33 leads us onto a short, unassuming street. A row of small businesses in a quiet Phoenician neighbourhood; liquor, second hand clothing, tools and, at the end of the street, a little shop selling antique mirrors. Ten or so people shuffle along the sidewalk, smiling, talking, planning their weekends. The only lone person is a young woman in a grey coat..

I briefly glimpse her at the end of the street, standing on our next corner, the back of her coat reflected in fifty old mirrors. Even from a distance I can see that she’s sullen, wide eyed and nervous. She shifts constantly on her feet, tugging at the button of her coat.

I look away to write some notes as we roll down the street. When I look up again, the woman is standing by my window, staring right at me. She’s smiling, a wide, unfaltering grin that seems almost offensive in its complete insincerity.

GREYWOMAN: Lambs at the gate. Hoping for something better than clover when all they find are things worse than slaughter.

AS: Rob what's happening?

ROB: Ignore her.

GREYWOMAN: He wanted to leave me so I cut him out. The lake was hungry it drank the wound clean.

AS: Miss, are you alright?

The smile vanishes, it snaps from her face and suddenly, the woman is furious.

GREYWOMAN: What do you think you're doing?! Have you gone mad?!

I reflexively press myself back in my chair as the woman, wild eyed and gaunt, slams her fists against my window, with every intent of breaking through.

GREYWOMAN: Would you dance down the lion’s tongue? It will shred you, you whore! It will shred you down to your sins! You fucking bastard!

Rob puts his foot down, and the Wrangler rolls defiantly away from the woman. As we turn the corner I watch her as she wretches, her every movement cradled in abject hysteria. She yells despairingly at the rest of the convoy, bursting into tears when the last car passes her by.

As she shrinks into the rear view mirror, I see her turn to a large mirror on the side of the shop, which the owner is in the process of polishing. I watch as she walks up to it, and with a convulsant scream, slams her head into the glass.

The mirror cracks around her forehead, the owner jumps back in shock, and as the woman pulls her head from the mirror's surface, the fractured spider’s web is dripping red. It all happens in a split second, and she quickly swerves from my view as we take the next left.

AS: Rob, what was that?

ROB: She's there sometimes.

AS: On that street?

ROB: On the 34th turn.

AS: Who is she?

ROB: I don't know. She's never acted out that much before though. Must be a special trip.