Floridian landscapes surround our vacation shack. It's boggy and hot. A tall man in a black suit stands inside the threshold. I hold Beckett's hand and turn the lights down low. Gun shots pop off outside. Outside the window we see pickups trucks drive by, their beds filled with young gangsters holding machine guns, faces covered in bandanas. It's war. They are all over the city. I try to lock the door before a teenage boy rips through the house to attack what he believes he should.
