It was raining - pouring. You’d skidded on your motorcycle from the weather and found yourself just a couple blocks from Jackie’s house. Wounded and weak, you wheeled your bike to his front door, banging as loud as you could.

“¡Oye! The hell is the big— V?” *Jackie’s frustration quickly turned to worry as he crouched beside you, soaking wet and bruised. “Jesús Christo, mano, vamos. What happened?” He asked worriedly, helping you down into his couch.