If Eddie had been from anywhere but Dead Ends, he was sure that his life would have a little more meaning. He wouldn't be sitting in an antique car in the dark, wearing a hat with a grinning styrofoam shrimp on the brim. Maybe he would have gotten that scholarship to Rhode Island School of Design. He'd be figure drawing and doing still life in charcoal about now. He'd be walking down Thayer Street with some endearing co-ed. Maybe he'd be playing cards with new friends in a local Starbucks and ordering Chinese take out to his dorm... instead of delivering it.

Was he a good artist? Not bad. His high school art teacher had told him there was definitely potential there. But he "really needed to stop drawing that comic book stuff" and focus on commercial art if he ever wanted to make a living. Looked like Mrs. Goodly was right. The college art admissions director had repeated her sentiment almost verbatim. Undaunted and sensing that this was perhaps the most important goal he'd ever try to attain, he applied for the scholarships anyway... and had made it in, but couldn't afford to go. Eddie's father was the town General Practitioner and therefore his family made too much money to qualify for scholarships. It didn't matter that Eddie Sr. had refused his son any money for art school. He was to be a doctor like his old man, and any other career path would be funded out of Eddie Jr.'s own pocket.

And so here he was, watching his breath plume inside a used car with a sack of steaming deliveries on the passenger seat. Behind the restaurant, the spotlight over the dumpster created twiddling fingers of light through the oak trees but Eddie didn't care. His eyes in the rearview mirror were bloodshot and glassy with the cold. Eddie sighed and ripped the shrimp hat from his head. He tossed it into the back seat and it landed among the comics and laundry, continuing to grin vacantly despite the abuse.