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The next morning Michael woke up shivering, the memories of what had transpired yesterday afternoon were still vivid “Relax,” he told himself “,that must have been a dream” He lied to himself in vain, as if to erase all hopes it was a dream Vincent knocked on his door
“Michael, we have to go” the man, Michael wasn’t sure if man was the right word, called him.
Michael entered the back room where Vincent waited only to be stopped cold in his tracks “my my 360” he rushed over to the battered machine and held it like an injured loved one “What happened to it, and why are you in here?” he asked Vincent accusingly
“Maggie let me in last night after I brought you here from the collision.” Vincent said casually looking at the scene between a man and his machine with little interest.
When Vincent had mentioned the collision Michael was confused but he remembered the blinding lights, the sounds, the pain, and of course the old man, the old man who had spoken words that to him were cryptic, but maybe that just went to prove how little Michael knew about the world around him and most importantly himself.