Driving the dark streets on my way to work, a country road not unlike the road Diane had traversed just hours prior, the radio was playing. Passing the lake, my ’69 Malibu roaring towards the distant lights of Eugene, I listened in growing incredulity to the news. It was unfathomable that this story was unfolding in the very town in which I lived. Those things just didn’t happen here. In fact, not much happened here at all.