Dalton would sit in baseball field. In those moments, his head would be blank as he plucked away. His notes would gently breeze in the wind but not enough to be heard by outsiders. The desert sun in Yuma always beats down, but the breeze was quite nice that day. Perfect for day-dreaming away on the bleachers. 

The sun used to rise and set just like that. Everyday. He played away not a care in the world. His banjo was covered in dirt and the reflections of his memories and the strings were in need of a long overdue replacement. 

That girl sat down behind the bleachers. Just out of view of him. The school was only a couple hundred yards away, but was completely fenced off except for a small opening with overgrown bushes and covered in thorns. Nobody comes here on accident. 

Dalton observed and clutched instrument tightly. 

She cried, too far away for him to care. Nonetheless he did notice a peculiarly placed lunchbox right by the fence. The girl appeared new to him. The more he played the more he pondered, somewhat put off by the sudden appearance. 

Something here ain't right. 

The tone of his music would change ever-so-slightly as he continued to peer curiously. With his reputation, it was a better decision for him not to interfere. 

The sounds of her sobbing were barely noticeable. The lunchbox to her side sat untouched. 

Man I’m hungry.