'Good morning Chicago, its a frosty day out there so wrap up tight ...'
MEOWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!! THUMP!
7.30, and just another ordainary day for Chicago native, Gary Hobson.Carefully lifting off his woolen blanket,
then thick, warm duvet, reluctantly waking up.
'Why dont ya just give me a day off, or even a lie in?' Gary mumbled, but, as always, it never does.
'It' being his early edition, an edition of The Chicago Sun-Times, a day early.
As Gary lifted the bolt and drew inwards the frosted paned door, he kept his eyes on the floor.
Nothing.
But, he had heard ... He then raised his eyes slowly,
until he found himself face to face with a pale, old man, clutching the cat, and, of course, the
paper.
'Who? What? How? He could not find the words.He lowered his voice to a whisper.How'd you get in here?
The doors are locked downstairs. We've got alarms ... D'you know about ... about the paper?'
The man, in response, just nodded and placed his index finger to his lips, indicating Hobson to stay silent.
The cat, who usually doesnt take to strangers, seemed quite at home in this pale, old man's arms.
Then, Gary realised something that he had put at the back of his mind a while ago.
Now, he remembered.
Are you? ... The old man nods again, then beckons to Gary to follow him as he descends the stairs.
As Hobson enters his bar, Mc Gintys, he feels the pang of the frosty air, as the heating has not
been turned on yet.
As the old man stands at the door, waiting as Gary rummages in his wallet for the key, he gently
lifts up his coat sleeve, reveiling an intricate silver watch, slightly old fashioned.
As Gary raises his head to look at the man, the man quickly pulls down his sleeve, but not in time.
Hobson gasped as he saw the man's hand.
Its see-through.
'What is this? Why do you want me?'Hobson demanded questioningly.