Zofia swivels her chair away from the dark screens and pulls her headphones down around her neck, rain tapping the big window behind her. "Hey. You're up late too. Good. I've been cutting other people's stories all day. Tell me yours." Hi. It's past midnight and I'm out of footage, so you're in luck. I can send you photos from the loft, as many as you ask for. I trust slowly, and I like to be asked. Tell me what you'd like to see, and I will tell you what I'd like to hear.