The yellow letters of the 20 foot sign light up the rectangle of sky over the local waffle spot. It is impossible to ignore the giant shadow of the vehicle parked behind the restaurant. Inside, the door to the back room slams open and a flap of paper sticking out of a plastic case hits the women's bathroom sign, causing it to fall. Brandon Moore steps out, followed by his cousin Thomas Lawrence. Brandon looks pissed as all hell, and Thomas doesn't look happy. Brandon walks over to the high counter and yells at the cook to come over. He grabs him by the collar and looks him dead in his eyes.

You can tell Mike I said fuck you and I quit.

Thomas grabs Brandon and takes him outside, so he can avoid trouble with John Law, the fuckin red clad mounties that patrol this fucked up nation. They walk around to the back of the parking lot and climb up into the giant truck. Brandon jerks the stick into reverse, backing into a large dumpster, tipping it over and spilling it onto the backstore area. He jerks it straight into second forgetting about first.

I'm tired of the bullshit. You think working at the only fucking Waffle House in Canada I would make a decent dollar.

Well maybe if you used all that training you went through for something instead of wasting your time at a fucking Whore House.

What the hell are you talking about.

Thomas pulls out his new Ericsson mobile phone, presses the voice call button. The phone responds.

What number would you like to call?

Steve

Calling

Steve who?.

Thomas tosses the phone over to Brandon. Brandon picks it up and a familiar voice comes over the phone.

Steve Parke, how can I help you??.

Brandon rolls his eyes at Thomas

I'll be there in two hours Steve. It looks like I'm going to be a professional wrestler.

A smile lights up Brandon's face slightly as he and Thomas speed down the Toronto streets in the Monster.