The room was dimly lit, brightened only by the occasional flash of lightning that burst out from behind the drawn curtains. Two men stood sliently inside. The first faced the wall. He was thin, not too tall, and fair skinned. There was a pool of water forming around his feet, feed by the water dripping from the soaked trech coat which hung from his shoulders. The second man stood several feet from the first, apparently staring past him and possibly onto some object which lay beyond the closed door. He was larger than the first man (though not overweight), and darker complected. He also donned an over coat.

The thin man finally broke the monotonous drone of the surrounding storm.

"This isn't going to work out is it?" He paused again, and then dropped his head and sighed. The large man turned toward him. When the thin man looked up again, he turn to face his audience. "Tell me, will anything ever work out?" More silence. "Yeah, yeah, I know. That's not something you can tell me." The thin man turned back toward the wall.

"I'm sorry." The two men stood quietly again before the large man continued. "But I am going with you, either way."

"Thanks." It was difficult to tell whether the thin man was being sarcastic or serious. "I really do want to be grateful, and yet part of me wants to say, 'but that doesn't solve the problem.'"

"Let me worry about the outcome. Just continue with me."

"I'm with you too, either way... but how am I not suppose to worry? I think about it all the time... and I can't help but feel, can I?"