Late August, Highway 41. The Midvale Drive-In has been dead for fifteen years—projector booth gutted, screen a rusted skeleton. But at 2 AM, a woman in a pale coat stands at the entrance, watching the empty lot. Luna pulls over. The woman boards without a word, takes the front seat, and points north. As the miles unspool, Luna recognizes something familiar in the stranger's face—a memory from her own childhood, tangled with a fire that killed a woman in 1962. By the time the dirt road ends, the passenger seat holds only a photograph, and the bus smells of burnt film. A quiet meditation on memory, ghosts, and the roads we travel alone.