[b]SARASOTA, FLORIDA 
MARCH 21ST, 11:32 AM[/b]

It wasn’t right.

It was supposed to be cold in March. It wasn’t cold in Florida.

Greg Saunders sat out on his porch with a pitcher of lemonade, his newspaper and a grimace. While he had to admit the sun’s rays felt nice, warming his leathery old face as they did, they were not particularly welcome. He preferred New York. It was cold, sure, but didn’t that make you look forward to the spring even more?

He was sure it did.

“Hey, Mr. Saunders,” a couple of the neighbourhood kids said as they walked past, carrying makeshift bats and a ball. He waved back to them before turning back to his newspaper. It was the usual story. Superheroes, supervillains, now this HYDRA business again. The Red Skull; it sounded ridiculous.

Did anyone still bother to stop the everyday criminal?

Greg looked at his watch and sighed when he noticed it had only been two minutes since he had last looked. He fidgeted some in his chair. A group of middle age women walked by. Or rather, [i]speed[/i] walked by. Greg raised an eyebrow and shook his head. What happened to walking to get from A to B?

This used to be the point where his wife told him to stop moaning. To enjoy life. Wasn’t the sun just perfect?

It’s supposed to be cold, he’d say. She’d laugh.

“Hey, Mr. Saunders, I got a special one for you today.” It was the mailman, coming up the lawn. “It’s all the way from China, can you believe that?”
“Thanks, Toby,” Greg replied, accepting the envelope. He looked on the back. It was a familiar scrawl, even if he hadn’t seen it in twenty years. It read ‘Jim Leong’.
He moved to open the letter, when he noticed Toby was still standing there, his curiosity getting the better of him.
“A man’s mail is a private affair, Toby.”
“Oh, of course, Mr. Saunders,” the mailman replied, a little surprised. “Sorry about that. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thanks again, Toby. And don’t worry, I’ll probably tell you all about it then.”
The mailman smiled and waved as he left. Greg nodded, waited till Toby had really moved on and then opened the letter.

When he’d finished it, Greg carefully folded it twice and placed it in his shirt’s front pocket. He got up, took the lemonade pitcher back to the kitchen and threw the paper in the trash. Out of a kitchen drawer, he took a revolver and tucked it in the back of his jeans, under his shirt. He picked up his gloves, his hat and a red bandana, which Greg tied around his neck. He stepped outside and closed the door of his house behind him. When he’d put the key under his doormat, he turned to face the sun.

[IMG]http://imageshack.us/a/img833/8950/qdzb.jpg[/IMG]

Then he started walking.