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April 1, 2017

The heavy swipe of windshield wipers in the dark night.

The smell of rain through the open car door.

Out there, somewhere, he was struggling with the gate lock.

Maybe it wasnít too desperate a situation, but the rain certainly made it feel that way. It was a nondescript car, maybe a little too nondescript though. The sedan sat there in the dark at a heavy idle, as the windshield wipers mechanically swiped back and forth across.

Why hasnít he come back in yet?

Why is the gate still locked?

We were supposed to be there; it was my facility.