The Grandfather of the Reunion

Prologue 1-4

Won't you be my neighbour?

Starting first memory playback with: Diary entry of certain day

{June 17th}

Good news, the power turned back on, I didn't even have to turn on my emergency generator. Bad news, we're still in this hell hole. I could finally make a full meal, and I hope it's not spoiled yet, but the stuff outside? The natives getting taken away? Not to mention opportunistic raiders and desperate parents, or just psychopathic hooligans scattered around the streets?

My sleep schedule is destroyed, so I managed to stay up until four. In the morning, don't forget that. There was a guard curfew, that we didn't get informed about. Maybe it's because they're trying to turn the power back on, maybe fix the plumbing next, I wanna take a shower, and maybe wash my clothes. My uncle kept saying that greasers stink...my friends responded by dumping him full of cat poop, funniest memory I've ever had. Didn't even get in trouble for it.

I went outside yesterday, and saw some of my neighbours still indoors and safe. I need some help myself, and I could trade some of my stuff, if they do me a favour. I recognised those houses. My neighbour three houses down to the left is Fred "Roger" Neil, a bastard child of the Neil blood. I heard they're good mechanics, he even said it to me once...maybe many times. We talked a lot about cars and whatnot, even showing me some of their modern techniques. Fixing automobiles, or vehicles in general is in their blood. Think he could lend me some tools, I once was a greaser, I know a thing or three about cars. Old or modern ones.

The hunting cottage from the "Middle class" part of the suburbs is owned by Gordon Monroe. I did some hunting with his dad back then, I hope he told his son a few things about me. If not, maybe I could ask for some sugar. Yes, I know sugar is extinct in these days, I was being figurative. I hope he has more bullets to spare, or maybe his game meat, I could trade for some bullets.

At the rich part of the suburbs, I know a two story modern house owned by a paramedic. Her salary is really good, either that, or she might've picked up a bag full of cash from a bank job, and didn't get arrested. Being a paramedic, despite out of duty, or maybe really busy, she could lend me some medicine. She's a native though, or a half native. I hope she's okay.

Now, there's only one problem...who should I call? I know I shouldn't ask you, journal, but I really need all of the above. Perhaps I should talk to them first, and ask if I could do them a favour. I hope I could still remember their phone numbers.

Maybe I have to actually trek to Gordon's house, I know for certain his house doesn't have a house phone, maybe it's because it's made of wood. Now that I think about it, I hope his house isn't levelled by the thunderstorm.

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Continuing playback with: Memory event recreation

[Hosea closed up his journal, pockets it inside his jacket, and walks over to his house phone. He vaults over his barricade, grabs his list full of phone numbers from his neighbours in his tied up drawer, and walks over to his phone. He called Fred first.]

[Fred answered casually, as if hell wasn't even happening.]

Fred: "Hey, Hosea." *He says, casually and exasperated.* <He sports a slight Brooklyn accent in his speech.*>