The scene fades in to the side view of a white single-wide trailer in the California desert. We're situated just inside Barstow's city limits. The trailer is placed among a few others that are all in about the same condition. The white one, however, has a small garden in front with an assortment of gnome figurines and daisies. Toward the front of the trailer is a clothes line. The daisy dukes, white beaters, and multitude of little boy's clothes give the impression that a boy and his mother live there. Or, a boy and his flamboyantly gay uncle, maybe? Either way it should make for some interesting TV. A familiar figure approached the trailer door… Tall, lean and muscular, with stringy blonde hair. He's dressed in a white beater and a pair of raggedy Levis. One arm was in a sling due to his recent injury. Yeah, you guessed it. Jimmy Stryker. He banged on the door with his good arm and waited. It seemed no one was going to answer until a child's voice rang out from the carport at the back of the trailer.

.{Kid}. Daddy!

Jimmy leaned down and scooped the little boy up before he collided with his knees. The boy was probably about four or five, and dressed almost identical to his father. Yes, folks. His father.

.{Woman}. JIMMY JUNIOR! You get your ass back here right now and feed those goddamn dogs like I said!

A buxom blonde peered out from the carport. Her brows were furrowed and she was frowning, but this turned into a look of genuine happiness when she spotted the visitor. She walked out to the two of them; Jimmy admiring her body in her cut-off shorts and one of his white beaters. She was barefoot and holding a pair of khakis she'd been about to put in the wash.

.{Jimmy}. Miss Joann Mackey. Lookin' damn fine, as usual.

.{Joann}. Yeah, wish I could say the same for you Mister Stryker. Little, why don't you go finish takin' care of the dogs while I talk to your daddy, alright?

Jimmy set his son down, who went darting off for the carport. Deep, booming barks greeted him. Joann turned back to Jimmy and eyed his arm with concern.

.{Joann}. You put some Neosporin on that thing?

.{Jimmy}. This ain't exactly a quick fix, babe. Don't worry about it. Call it an occupational hazard.

Joann frowned. She held firm to the belief that Neosporin would fix just about everything. That, and a big bottle of Jack.

.{Joann}. Well, come in and I'll get you a beer then. It's about time you paid us a visit.

The two of them went inside the trailer, which was cozy despite not being the biggest in the park. Jo had decorated the tiny kitchen with all things bovine. Cows printed on the curtains, coffee cups, dish towels… The living room was done entirely in pinks and florals. The little couch, the armchair, and the curtains. Across from the couch was an old console TV with the classic hand dial. The back led to a small bathroom and Junior's toy-cluttered bedroom.