1 Her hair sticks to her cheek in the muggy, early August air. She takes the hair tie off her wrist, gathers her hair, and pulls tight. Her cotton t-shirt feels thick and heavy in the evening heat. The pavement shines as the lights change from yellow to red, but there aren't any cars on the road. The night is quiet except for the low hum of a neon sign. E.A.T., it says. Everett Alan Timmes, LLC. She walks a few more blocks to the park and stretches her hamstrings. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Go.