It's raining. A driving downpour that smelled of both death and rebirth. Underneath umbrellas, underneath a streetlamp, two seemingly inconsequential gentlemen are waiting.
"Me too. But there's nothing as can be done."
"They often are."
"Are you sure he's coming?"
"So how long do we wait?"
"Until he comes."
"What if he doesn't?"
"Someone else's problem."
"But if he never comes..."
"I think there are some chips in the car."
"Oh ... I think I can wait a little longer, though."
"Probably for the best."
"So are we going to kill this one?"
"You don't know?"
"I wasn't told."
"Then why are we here?"
"The answers will come. Or they won't. No matter."
Headlights in the distance, approaching. A black luxury automobile pulls to the curb. The driver exits, leaving the car running, walks round and opens the rear passenger side door holding above it an umbrella. A man in the full length fur coat steps from the car. He and the driver are dead before he can fully straighten. The only sound is the rain and the whisper of the engine.