Cane, walked in the front door with what barely passed as a motorcycle helmet under his arm. He instinctively turn down the hippie music as he passed by the turntable, grunted good evening to the living room crowd, tossed the helmet into a pile of clothes in a far corner, then walked into the kitchen. Staring out absently into the back yard, Cane tore open a small bag of peanut M&Ms and downed what was to pass as dinner as if he were ingesting some vile medicine.