It looked like it was crying lightning above the designer skyline to the west. *Ruby*’s Uncle Jonny sat in the middle of the battlefield. A heart shaped box hung from his fingers as angels sang behind closed doors in the Heavens above him.

“All these things I’ve done,” he whispered, reprimanding himself. “And for what? I’ve broken my propeller. If God could read my mind right now, he’d control me, stop these teardrops, but he doesn’t care. I’m on my own now.”

The plane behind him was burning bright, as he continued to talk to himself.

“I still remember when I would just play my music, where the only sadness was the teardrops on my guitar. This is the story of my life – it all starts good and then I end up covered in shit.”

He looked up and fingered the dance hall drug in his pocket. Too many and he could overdose, but he couldn’t go there just yet. There was an awful lot of running between him and his destination and only 2 hours to get there.