Stephen Kicklambs’ 1932 Ford Roadster was being pushed to it’s limit. He couldn’t stop if he wanted. God did Stephen want to stop. He had started out so strong, his friends and family were nothing to him back then, he’d taken them all.

But this. He couldn’t survive it, who the fuck could? He didn’t have anything for it. Everything he owned was all buried away in his schemes, oh, back in those days Stephen laughed at those that still had cash to spend. Indecisive he called them. Cautious was there sin, one that Stephen buried them by.

Jesus-fucking-christ. He could see it in the distance. The red building was only the symbol however, stephen knew who he really had to face. Only 4 left to go … 3 … 2 … It was was going to end, he knew it back on the other side. 12 dots. One destination.

The growl of the engine died away as Stephen came to a halt. He looked up.

“SCOTT KICKLAMBS?”, the iron boomed

“stephen”

“WHAT?”

“stephen, my … My names stephen”

“STEPHEN KICKLAMBS, YOU OWE ME £2000”