April 30, 1997: Rainbow Destroyer opened the door the rec. center. He felt a cold breeze. The wind was cooler than was usual for mid spring, but it left him with a brisk feeling that reminded him of springs past. Looking down for the doorknob, he noticed a small bit of moss clinging to the underside of a brick that was wedged out of the wall. This was unusual for the hot, dry climate of the Inland Empire. The rec. center was typically alive with the buzz of insects, the thud of boots, and the piercing cries of small children, not moss. It had been more than a year since rainbow destroyer had seen moss that good. Its raw fertility sent a shiver down his spine. But this was the nature of springtime, when the atypical becomes commonplace—the caterpillar becomes the butterfly. Rainbow destroyer himself, however, felt distant from the festival of rebirth that surrounded him. He had been sick lately, and almost didn’t make it to work that day. He knew it would all end soon though. The weather was much too nice for computer literacy classes, and he wondered how long it would be until he could go home to his wife and Mootz. In two weeks, he would play the lottery and lose. He stroked his mustache, and slowly drifted into a haze.