[Rain Man]

It was a hot August evening in 1965. The sun blazed red on the horizon, still shining hot even as the day grew to a close.

Siberian Khatru's father pulled into the driveway, gliding the Rambler to a stop. It had been a hard day at work, and his white t-shirt was tight on the muscular body created from his manual labors.

He ran a tired hand through his pompadour and popped one last cigarette from his rolled up shirt sleeve. He wanted nothing more than to relax in his dining room, have a nice dinner of meat loaf and green beans with his young wife, and then settle into his easy chair to watch this week's episode of Bewitched. Maybe read the evening paper or, if he was lucky, catch a baseball game on the radio.

But something caught his eye. Someone coming out the front door, stepping onto the porch.

She was a brazen woman, that wife of his. Barefoot in the heat, clad only in a bright red baby doll negligee and a sheen of southern sweat, she smiled seductively at him, leaning against the light-colored brick. Her head back, eyes closed, she raised an ice cube and slowly ran it along her upper body, gliding from her throat down into the recesses of her ample cleavage. A mischievous smile slowly formed on her face, and she looked him in the eyes before raising one long, manicured finger and beckoning him towards her. Hips swaying, she walked into the house.

Siberian Khatru's father took a deep breath. He opened the car door, stepped out, and crushed the cigarette into the concrete. It was going to be a long night.