The rain poured down upon me. Of course it did. This was Chicago, Illinois. It seemed to rain everyday here. Well, maybe that’s because it had to do with that fact that it was Spring here, and you know that old saying: “April showers bring May flowers.” The rest of that saying has some historical background to it. But we’re not going to get into that today. Nope, not today. I bet you’re wondering what I’m doing outside, on a rainy day. Well, let me tell you. When you’re a photographer for the New York Times, taking pictures of the dead body of a famous actor, then you’d be out here too. Now you’re asking, “Why are you in Chicago if you work for the New York Times?” Blame my boss. He wanted his paper to be the first on the scene of this so-called “tragic event.” There’s nothing tragic about it. This guy, this actor, wasn’t very popular. The only reason he was in show business, was because his father was a well-known movie producer. Peter Caprenza was the producer’s name. And his, now dead son, was Hector Caprenza. If you’ve seen “Terminator,” “Terminator 2: Judgement Day,” and “Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines,” you can see Hector as one of the background people. You know, just one of the people who help the scene along. No lines, just facial expressions, and movements. A police officer pushes me out of the way, to make room for the EMTs, and the gurney. The EMTs carefully place the body of Hector Caprenza on the gurney, prop it up, and load it into the back of the ambulance. The ambulance drives off, and I check my camera to make sure I’ve taken enough pictures to make the boss happy. I do have enough. Now, I’m off to the O’Hare Airport, to see if I can catch the next flight to New York.

Oh. I forgot to introduce myself. How rude of me. The name’s Robbie Wilson. I’m twenty-two years old, and a rookie photographer for the New York Times. But you already knew that part. I’m about…well I’d say I’m about six feet, two inches. I have light brown hair that goes to about the base of my spine. My eyes are a healthy shade of blue, and my complexion is fair. Meaning it’s not too pale, and it’s not too tan. On my chin, is the faintest outline of a goatee. I’d say that I have a slender, yet muscular build. (I work out at least twice a week, to keep myself healthy.) Currently I am wearing a pair of khakis pants, an emerald-green button down short-sleeved shirt, and an ocean-blue tie. On my feet I’m wearing a pair of black ankle socks, covered by black dress shoes. Covering my upper half is a tan-colored trench coat, which I purchased last month, when I turned twenty-two.

I caught a passing taxi, I had to at least scream five times, and wave my hands, before the cabbie saw me. He apologized to me and I merely nodded and handed him a fifty dollar bill. It was the same cabbie that brought me here, and I remember the meter amount being fifty dollars when he dropped me off at the scene of the crime. The cabbie happily took the money, and drove me off. The cabbie’s name was Sadhi -he had introduced himself to me when he picked me up from the airport- and he was from India. Sadhi had come to the States last year, trying to look for a job. And he had found one alright: driving people around Chicago for not very good pay. But what could you do? Sadhi started talking to me after a few moments of driving; I could tell he was just as annoyed about the constant droning of the cab engine, and the pounding of the rain, as I was. Soon I was at the airport. I thanked Sadhi with a wave and a smile, and headed inside, and out of the rain.

I didn’t have any luggage, because I was only in Chicago long enough to take pictures, and then get back to the Times. I pulled out my round-trip ticket, and showed it to the woman at the counter. She handed me my boarding pass, and I headed off to Gate 7B, which would take me back to New York. The flight left in about ten minutes, and I was quite a long way from the gate. So I basically jogged. I went through the security check, and arrived at the gate with two minutes to spare. I flashed the man at the gate my pass, and his assistant led me to my aisle seat in First Class. I was in the first row, first seat by the window on the left side.

After a few tiring hours, the plane arrived in New York. I was finally back home, and that made me happy. Another twenty-five minutes, and I was off the plane, shaking off my jet lag. Once I was outside the airport, I hailed a taxi, and was on my way to the New York Times. I looked down at my camera bag, which I had taken with me onto the plane back in Chicago. I had stowed my camera safely back into its case once I had gotten into Sadhi’s taxi. This cabbie driver, I didn’t know his name, tried to make small talk with me. But I was too tired to pay attention to anything right now. The cabbie shrugged, and kept driving. Finally, after thirty minutes of trying to get back to sleep, the Times came into view. Tapping his meter irritably, the cabbie shouted at my sleeping form, “Hey! Wake up, man! You owe me twenty-five dollars and thirty-seven cents!” I blearily looked at him, and shook off my tiredness. Fishing around in my pocket, I handed him two ten dollar bills, and a five. I then continued to hand the angry cabbie a quarter, dime, and two pennies. The cabbie counted the money and then grumbled a “thank-you.” I nodded to him, and got out of the taxi. The taxi sped off, seeming as if it couldn’t get rid of me fast enough.

I walked inside the building, and Rachel, the receptionist, greeted me with a warm smile. “Welcome back, Mr. Wilson.” I smiled and waved at her. I was guessing that she missed me. I don’t know how that was possible, because I had only left this morning around maybe 6AM, and it was only now going on 3PM. Wow. I had been gone a while. Hmm, maybe Rachel did miss me. Rachel was a nice girl. Only twenty years old. Her body was built pretty much like mine. Only she had auburn-colored hair, and piercing, but warm green eyes. Rachel had kept sending me signals about a possible relationship, but I wasn’t interested, not now anyway. She was a nice girl, but I didn’t have time to a girlfriend right now. Rachel had accepted that, and she was happy with my decision. I walked across the marble floor, and to the elevator. Pressing the button that would take me to the upper floors, the elevator doors opened, and I stepped inside. I hit the labeled button that would bring me directly to the boss’s office, and the doors closed. I had no idea what would greet me once I stepped off the elevator.