The woods behind the Meadowlark housing development were the perfect spot for Gerard to smoke and write, and that's exactly what he did. They were quiet, secluded, and no one really went there. There was a clearing, right in the center of the woods, that Gerard spent most of his time. A tree had fallen there, and it made the perfect chair. That Saturday morning, Gerard was in that same spot, a little black journal sitting on his knees. He was drawing that day, just comics, and smoking, his long dark hair falling down into his eyes occasionally. About an hour after he arrived there, he heard footsteps crunching through the fallen autumn leaves, and glanced up, brushing his hair back with the hand that wasn't holding a lit cigarette. "Hello?" he called, wondering who might be out there in the woods.