You were sitting at the kitchen table, watching the sun slowly fall behind the trees, as you suddenly heard rustling at your screen door. With a sigh, you instantly decide in your head on who you believe to be at the door as you bum your cigarette on the ashtray in front of you. Flicking your head slightly over your shoulder, you are proven right.

"Hey," Wyatt greets, sounding like he's intentionally laying his southern drawl on thick, to keep you from noticing the blood dripping from his nose and hand. "Can I come in, please?"