Roger Vekre was a man of simply tastes-give him a good book to read, a cigarette dangling from his hand (with another one waiting to be lit) and a frothy beer in the other hand-and he was a happy man. Except for one thing-he didn't see his kids enough. He was known to get drunk in the bars and bring what willing chaps he could find home with him to gaze lovingly at the little tykes as they slept. Only it wasn't quite his home anymore and the ex-wife was known to call the cops on him for his late night shenanigans. He thought his late night excursions were funny: she thought they were scary. Then one day everything changed for Roger. Actually it wasn't one day, it was a series of days with an insidious change coming on. You see, Roger was a welder by trade. And being somewhat of a ruffian, he didn't always follow the rules. And rule number of the welders' guild-you must wear your goggles. Roger was always throwing his goggles on the floor. Or at somebody. He had deep thoughts about things and about how things should go and the bosses didn't always agree. As strangely insightful as he was about all the mechanical engineerings in the workplace, his daily work was getting a little sloppy-and then a lot sloppy-for Roger Vekre of the James Dean look had a secret...a brooding secret that he didn't like to share. And it make him angry. And it made him throw even more things.