I made my way up the hill towards the two men standing next to the oil drum.

They were smoking and drinking beer. That must be Pat and Tom, I thought. They were staring at me down the grey tar mac road, just looking up at the circling hawk now and again.

I’d been checking my jacket pocket quite often on the way to make sure the letter was still there. This was the letter that was going to change everything; end of it all. I looked up at the hawk, he seemed to be carrying something in his claws, but it was too far away to see exactly what it was.

I saw this as a good omen though; a lonely hawk, accompanying me up the hill towards the men at the slaughterhouse – that was surely a good thing. I would have preferred my moon to have been there of course, but I didn’t see him often in the daytime, just faintly sometimes on clear summer mornings and early evenings.

I stopped about 5 feet away from the red headed man. I looked up at him.
„I should say hello from Audrey. You are Pat and Tom aren’t you?“ I said.

„Yeah, I’m Pat and he’s Tom“ the red headed man said, „what’s it to you?“ He threw his cigarette into the fire in the oil drum.
I took the envelope out my pocket and gave it to him. He took it, opened it and read it slowly, taking an occasional swig from his beer.
“You write that, did ya?” Pat asked, looking down at me with an expression I found hard to describe.
“Yes.”
Pat gave the letter to the Tom and threw him a glance.

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