Sunday Morning around 10am-ish...

An involuntary tiredness welled up from within Shawn's gut. Perhaps it was the hours of practice. Or then again, maybe that had nothing to do with it. Maybe it was the dreams about the hours of practice. Or maybe it was just Sunday.

Shawn stood by his window looking outside. The wind was whipping around and carrying with it leaves and a plastic bag that looked like it came from Pathmark. Behind it, a large racoon dashed across the street and ducked into a grate, disappearing into the sewer.

knock..knock..knock

Someone was knocking on Shawn's bedroom door.