The 29th monsoon had finally dried when a distant buzzing sent Nude scrambling for cover. A tiny plane dipped and swerved, filled the air with swirling white and disappeared. He cautiously approached one of the scattered pices of paper:
We`ve been writing letters each day hoping that you`ll come home. And we`re wondering if you`re okay. As you`re not on the phone. Face the facts now Take a chance. Come on back now. Fast. Please come home, Please come home. Everyone cares for you. Please come home, Please come home. Everyone cares for you, Everyone. We`ve been writing letters each day. Hoping, that you`ll... come home.
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