7:16 am
Near the Blue Plate Diner

He cast a backward glance at his car, then started up the street. There was a convenience store up on the corner. He could get something to eat, even if it was only a candy bar and not the most nutritional breakfast. It would tide him over until the Blue Plate opened and he could get some actual food.

Assuming the Blue Plate opened. He'd never seen it closed, and just looking at it with the door locked and the lights turned off made him feel anxious. Like something was going to happen, something he should anticipate. But he didn't know what. Mostly he was worried about Angie. He hoped she was okay. That there was a perfectly logical explanation.

The convenience store was closed. He sighed heavily, looking up and down the deserted street. He had the very strong feeling something was purposely preventing him from getting something to eat. He didn't like the feeling at all.

Putting one hand against his aching stomach, he turned again, surveying his options. That's when he noticed the store next to the convenience store. "Me Boyo Liquor," read the glowing neon sign. He pushed on the door and it opened.

Chance stepped inside quickly, looking around. The shop was barely larger than a closet, which explained why he'd never noticed it there before. "Is anybody here?" he called, looking around at the bottle-filled shelves that stretched high above his head. There were packets of peanuts and sunflower seeds hanging on a small rack next to the cash register. He tossed a couple onto the counter. "Hello?"

His hand hovered above the small silver bell, but he didn't have to ring it. A man emerged from behind the counter. He must have been sitting on the floor. He just kept rising toward the ceiling and Chance's eyes grew wide. The guy was huge, towering at least a foot over Chance's respectable six feet. And he had shocking red hair - the sort of red hair that was actually bright orange.

The man glowered at Chance.

Chance nudged the packets of peanuts he'd tossed onto the counter, sticking his hand into his pocket to look for the money Audrey told him she'd put into his coat.

"We're closed." The enormous man's voice was as deep as a well.

"But -" Chance gestured toward the door. He should have known better than to argue with a giant.

"We're closed," the man said again, more forcefully. A moment later, Chance found himself deposited on the sidewalk outside. He sat up, rubbing his shoulder where he'd landed, and watched the huge Irishman lock the front door to the shop.

Chance got to his feet and his stomach rumbled threateningly. He couldn't remember ever having been this hungry before. He felt ridiculous, being ruled by a physical sensation this way. And his regular routine wasn't working.

Try normal, he told himself. There was a Lucky Boy hamburger restaurant the next block up. He didn't usually eat at fast food places. He liked being able to see the person who cooked his food, and know their name.

Lucky Boy, he thought, setting off. Maybe the name of the chain was supposed to mean something to him. Maybe it was some kind of a sign.

Sometimes he really hated the way his life was, because of his goofy luck.

7:20 am
A couple of blocks away

Chance paused when he saw the yellow fire trucks, but then he kept walking with determination. He continued on, his head down, not even wanting to tempt fate. He was just going to get something to eat, like any normal guy.

But then he turned and looked back. A crowd had gathered at the foot of a not particularly tall tree. The ladder on the fire truck ascended directly into the air. It only took Chance a moment to spot the shivering, terrified kitten up in the branches of the tree.

He stopped, battling with himself, and then approached the firemen. "Need a hand?" he inquired.

"We're professionals, sir," one of them said seriously, his eyes fixed on the cat.

Chance glanced up at it, then looked back at the firemen, who seemed stumped. "I've done this before," he added. The firemen began to move away, pulling the ladder down. A balding man wearing a brown cardigan sweater threw his hands up in the air as though he'd lost all hope.

"Here, Fluffy," Chance called, putting both his hands in the air, ready to catch the cat when it jumped down to him.

Which it did.

"Don't touch it!" the man in the sweater screamed. Chance jumped, and the ball of fur bounced out of his hands as the startled cat streaked under a corner of house's porch.

Chance looked at the man. "Do you know what that was?" the man demanded.

"Your cat?" Chance tried. He was feeling less charitable by the moment. Westin always said he was grumpy when he hadn't gotten enough sleep.

"That was an extinct feral cat," the man said.

"Didn't look extinct to me," Chance said. Through the slats supporting the porch, he could see the cat moving. Its eyes glowed eerily.

"There's no proof such a creature ever existed in North America!" the man cried.

"Looks like it's in North America to me," Chance said, and started walking away.

"You could have scared it irreparably!" the man called after him. Chance rolled his eyes. You help somebody out and this is the thanks you get, he thought.

7: 22 am
Lucky Boy restaurant

It smelled like grease. Wonderful, delicious grease. Chance put his hand against his empty stomach again and leaned weakly against the counter, contemplating the menu as the teenager behind the register waited to take his order.

"Hash browns. Coffee. And some of those french toast sticks," Chance requested. "Actually," he paused. "Do you have burgers at this time of day?"

"Hungry," the kid behind the counter assessed. "I know the feeling."

Chance waited for the answer to his question.

"I mean, sometimes it's just uncontrollable. And you can't let anything stand in the way between you and that wonderful, lovely -"

Chance gave the kid a look, ending his poetic ode.

"Three fifty-two," the kid said.

Chance put his hand into the pocket of his coat, reaching for the money Westin said she'd put in there. He came up empty. He reached into the interior pocket of the coat, but there was still no money. Feeling desperate, he turned his pockets inside out, but they were empty.

The kid behind the counter looked sorry. Chance shrugged, and walked out of the restaurant, retracing his steps. There had been money in his coat, he was certain. He must have dropped it somewhere. And he knew exactly where.

7:28 am
Me Boyo Liquor

Chance spotted it from several paces away, and broke into a gentle jog, expecting a strong gust of wind to appear from nowhere and carry the crumpled piece of paper off into a gutter that would lead directly into the ocean.

No such gust came. No car drove by, jouncing it from his grasp. It was a hundred, he saw -- and reached for it.

His hand came up empty, and Chance looked at his palm for a second in disbelief. Then he noticed the very large pair of shoes on the sidewalk directly in front of his dirty sock-clad feet. Shoes that belonged to the biggest Irishman he'd ever seen.

The guy had a huge grin on his face and one hand tightly curled into a fist. Chance had a pretty good idea what was inside that fist.

"That's my money," Chance said. He wasn't in the mood for this. "Just give it back." He looked up - way up - into the man's face.

His grin didn't fade. "Shouldn't be so careless," he said.

Chance felt anger flare up inside of him, and he didn't get angry very easily or very often. "Look, boyo -" he said, appropriating the name from the sign above the door of the shop.

The large man looked as though Chance had struck him. His skin turned pale and his fingers uncurled. The hundred-dollar bill fluttered to the ground, where Chance retrieved it. "What?" he asked, afraid the man was going to pass out.

"Today's your lucky day," the man said with a heavy sigh.

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