Creative writing workshop. Twentyish, clean, twinkle-eyed. They meet in the county jail for a dose of realism.
"I've already had one published poem written about me."
Her enemy laughs, then rises to the challenge. "Well, I can't say which one, but there's a very famous novel dedicated to me."
Oohs and ahhs. "Which! Which! Tell us!"
Bashfully: "I really can't say. Just read a lot and pay attention to language patterns. It'll become obvious."
The security door opens. Institutional green, with the black and yellow striped tape that signifies fallout shelters. Cheerfully and chattily they pass through the metal detector, following their gray-haired instructor toward the truth.