"It was a dark and stormy evening." Surely he was hallucinating. He'd forgotten his umbrella and stood outside the door in the rain. He had lost everything. Even his dog had left him. He was too depressed to speak as he stood there wondering how it had happened. He pulled his hat down over his ears. "Once a pickle, never a cucumber." He'd been sober for years. Finally, he had arrived at life on life's terms. He repeated the cliches to himself over and over again. They helped keep the demons away. And the angels.