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Brian Schwartz

It was a cold and starlit night. Wind whistled through darkened streets, the dead leaves of summer blew in spirals past unlit buildings, deserted, or perhaps the few residents of this warehouse district were hidden cowering behind bolted doors. Some-thing strange, electric was in the air, far beyond the ken of the simple folk who lived here. Suddenly, high-powered head-lights sliced the night, and the sleek streamlined shape of a Grey-hound bus glided past and came to a halt. The door creaked open. A man stepped out. He was tall, wiry, and despite his exhaustion from two nights in this cramped metal tin, he moved with an easy confidence. It was his town, after all. Brian was back.