It's like that dream when everyone looks at you and you don't know why. Suddenly the very feeling of being seen makes my skin crawl. We're ghosts, we're invisible, yet everyone here stares at us like we're solid.
'Easton, how is this happening.'
Out come the cameraphones. The snapping of photos is too loud in the small, overbright space. Some people scream and run, others step closer to us. Our happy day out to do good has taken a very sharp turn south.
Elle grabs my hand and grips it tight. 'Let's go,' she says. 'This is wrong, I don't like it.'
'Where to?' I say.
'Anywhere,' she says. 'I think we just haunted a police station.'
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