Jim stood outside his back porch, a fresh cup of coffee in one hand, a glass of bourbon in the other. The sun was near setting, but instead of the amber sunsets he's loved seeing all his life, the sky was a greenish gray. He figured it was probably five degrees outside at best as he watched the rain fall sideways, freezing as it hit the ground. Never before did he think he'd actually be wishing for two feet of snow as a better alternative. If there was ever a night for a tornado, it'd be tonight. As cold as it was, the weather was just right. Who'd have figured they'd ever see a tornado in December? He cooly dumped out his coffee and went inside to get the dog and lead it into the basement. "Fuck the Midwest," he mumbled to himself as the porch door slammed behind him. "I should have stayed in San Diego."