Clarke McCallister looked at the ripped sandwich in his hands and felt lonely. He walked over to the window and reflected on his crowded surroundings. He had always hated dull Los Angeles with its watery, wonky waters. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel lonely. Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Phillip Olsson. Phillip was a violent juggler with scrawny legs and curvy toenails. But not even a rude person who had once helped a gigantic injured bird recover from a flying accident, was prepared for what Phillip had in store today. THE END