Charlie felt a drop of rain hit his head, and he glanced up at the sky, tears running down his face. He wiped the tears away with the soiled sleeve, and felt another rain drop, and then another. Soon, it began pouring. Charlie stood quickly; the rain had brought him back to his senses. He needed to find Claire.

"This is worse than a wet towel," he muttered as he pulled his hood over his head. He stopped himself. What was he thinking! He was sober now. But somehow, he wished he was not. A cold beer would be nice right now. In fact, a twelve-pack would be quite nice right now. If only. If only.

"Claire!" he screamed over the pouring of the rain. "CLAIRE!"