The humid Alabama air hung heavy, thick with the scent of honeysuckle and the promise of a summer thunderstorm. Dust motes danced in the slivers of sunlight that pierced the gaps in the boarded-up windows of the old rehearsal space. It wasn't glamorous, not by a long shot, but for the Binary Bopperettes, it was home. Or at least, it was where their dreams - and their harmonies - took shape. To me, it smelled like possibility, tinged with the metallic tang of fear.