[color=f7941d][h2]Douglas Song[/h2][/color][color=f7941d][h3]North of Best 8 Motel[/h3][/color]
Regularly, even at this hour, it would not be unreasonable for Song to see, rather hear the college, still alive with some activity. They were youthful, reckless, wild, but the rain had extinguished any flames they had and called it an early night on their activities. This made travelling its block easier, the outsider not wanting to develop a reputation. Why even bother going down a route that gave an increased odds of detection, a pattern? Simple really, it was the most direct route to the coffee shops of the area.

What proved more amusing? That tonight of all nights, had he gone the route around and away from the college, one of several he varied on and chose, he would have stumbled into the brawl of man, machine, and women. It had become a free for all and as if some greater divine, if not absolutely cosmic comedy was at hand, those responsible for it all were the same two he had met. What punctuated it most was a great clap of thunder and lightning that came, seemingly erratically from the storm and struck several blocks over. The wanderer ceased his advance for a moment, water slicking off of his coat, shooting a speculative glance down the road. That was odd, the storm reached out not to the highest or most prominent point, any number of metal fixtures or even lightning rods that lined the rooftops.

The "Golden Tiger" was no master of the storm, let alone all that knowing of it, but whatever had just transpired was strange. So strange it seemed either a once in a lifetime incident to behold or far more unusual matters were afoot. What had brought things out as they had on this night? Song could only wonder, be he listened and waited, stepping back under the overhang of a shop's front...