Main Street. Motor vehicles speed by. Shoppers window-shop on this cool spring morning. Secluded from the hubbub below, windows closed, air-conditioner on, Annie plays piano. So smart of Herbie to get double-glazed windows.
Lying on the sofa, gazing at the trees rustling, scattering some indignant sparrows, she dreams.
The bell rings. Herbie’s sister. He’s been hit by a bicycle.
As the rumbling bus growls to a halt at the mouth of the hospital, coughing the two women out, they rush out.
Opening his eyes, unable to speak after his emergency tracheotomy , Herbie remains for observation. She has her Herbie.
It's on the news. An explosion on Main Street had bombed the flower shop across the street from Annie’s apartment. Shrapnel had hit the music shop right next door. The street is strewn with blood red rose petals. Music sheets are floating in the breeze. Miraculously no one has been injured. But the terrorist has escaped. Police are chasing him all over Main Street. Police will be conducting a house to house search for the terrorist.
Annie, asleep, doesn’t hear the intruder climb over the veranda.