”Now baby, listen baby, don't ya treat me this way ‘cause I'll be back on my feet someday. Don't care if you do 'cause it's understood. You ain't got no money, you just ain't no good! Well, I guess if you say so, I'll have to pack my things and go.”

Hit the Road Jack — Ray Charles

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A rainy and cold night in Small Heath, no surprise there. Of course, Thomas had gotten used to it. Even so, walking through the darkness with his head down, newsboy cap pulled slightly lower to keep the rain out of his face. He hated it.

Though he hated it, the pitter patter of rain hitting the roofs or the cobblestone streets was peaceful. A good distraction from whatever was going on in his mind. The war, the business, ugh.

The occasional street light lit up his path, and him. An intimidating figure, dressed in all black, concealing a weapon somewhere on him. He knew he was intimidating, he’s a Shelby.

However, as he walked, he could hear a voice. It was a man, obvious by the husky voice. It wasn’t a man talking, no. It was a man singing, and he sounded astounding. What’s the chances?

Thomas had always been a sucker for people who could sing, woman or man, and this man could sing. The rasp in his voice, the vocal range, the emotion. Paired with the rain, it was amazing.

He started walking faster, hoping to hear the voice get louder. He had to see the man behind the voice.