Richie strolled his way down the side of the Rainstorm. Once he'd made it a suitable way out he started to whistle old Sinatra, 'Luck Be A Lady' trilling quietly through the air. He stopped, struck his zippo lighter against the thigh of his ripped jeans and took the joint he'd stashed behind his ear, tucked under the lip of the dark blue beanie he had rammed down over his ears. He lit it, taking a deep hit. "Lucky, wherefore art thou, Lucky."