It was one of those perfect spring afternoons when the world felt like it had just woken up from its long winter slumber. The air was cool but tinged with warmth, a subtle promise of summer on the horizon. The trees, still dotted with tender new leaves, swayed gently in the breeze while birds sang merry tunes from their perches. The porch creaked underfoot, an old but familiar sound, and the scent of wild flowers on the wind.

The two were sitting on the porch and had become closer because of their individual traumas. Under other scenarios, never. In no dimension would a friendship between Fiddleford and Stanley would occur. He wouldn't be caught dead with a jackass like him, but, life takes other paths.

—Yeah, well, what are you gonna do? Life's a bitch and then you die... Right?— Stanley bluntly states, staring off into the sinking horizon.

—Sometime's. Sometimes life's a bitch and you keep living.— Fiddleford responds in turn, taking a sip off his beer.