“London. It’s more like a vocational school with shitty living quarters.” Rhiannon studied a chipped fingernail and frowned. She flicked at her nail polish and dismissed it as a casualty of laundry. “I haven’t been to a show since I got to Nevada,” she said, stretching forward and touching the toes of her boots. “I don’t really know anyone, other than Valerie – the girl in the elevator with me – and this guy I’m… Okay, I have no idea how to politely describe what I’m doing with him.”