Night on the Planet
By Courtney Milnestein
“Not for another hour,” she said, apologetically, turning away from the faded bus timetable behind the stained Perspex.
The other girl looked up, confetti and glitter clinging amidst the hairspray, the faintest smudge of mascara and eyeliner.
“You’re kidding me.”
Diana, a month older, which bestowed on her the tentative right of seniority in their longstanding, long-enduring friendship, shook her head and slumped onto the narrow plastic bench alongside her friend.
“I wish I was.”
In the dark, fireworks were going off, those excited to be out past midnight still intent on making it known that they had not died, that they endured not just the changing of one year to another, but the changing of an entire millennium, and that the machines had
