The woman stepped forward. “Hi, are you Marissa Markowitz? The famous NICU nurse?”

The bus was already full when Lazer and Shloimy stepped on. After a quick scan — no seats were left except for a spot next to an elderly woman who’d spread out her shopping bags — Lazer found a spot for the two of them to stand together.

But Shloimy barely felt the lurching of the bus. The streets of Givat Shaul could be choked with snarls of traffic and construction workers, but he processed none of the gray, gritty scenery. His mind was replaying Fulli’s song the way it had sounded in the mixing room, with his guitar layered over all those synthetic sounds.

It had taken three rounds of fiddling on the studio guitar until he’d figured out how to play exactly in sync with Fulli’s intentionally broken phrasing — a softly picked twang that perfectly accented the throaty desperation of the vocals. But once it clicked, the entire room seemed to resonate with the music he produced.

“Genius,” Heshy had pronounced, as he upped the reverb on the guitar track. “See, Fulli, I told you it would all work out. The guitar was the perfect solution — it’s raw and real, exactly what you wanted. Lazer, I don’t know where you found this guy, but we’re going to have to keep him.”

He pointed at the mini-fridge. “Now I really owe you guys a drink. Nu, take something. My treat. And you, Mr. Smooth,” he pointed at Shloimy, “give me your number. I have a lot of other projects that could use a good acoustic guitarist. We’re going to be seeing you here again.”