It's another chilly, misty autumn evening in Possum Springs. You are walking down the Maple Street, enjoying the fresh air after doing absolutely nothing productive for the whole day.

You spot a familiar crocodile leaning on the brick-house wall. She's looking at her boots with a thousand-yard stare, a lit cigarette is dangling from her mouth uselessly.

She finally acknowledges your presence when you are within arm's reach.

Hey, Mae... she spits her cig on the ground What's up?