Once again Archibald raised his eyes to the crowd in search of a response. People looked at each other and murmured things. Thaddeus called out from the back of the room, "You still haven't told us why you drove through that wall." "Yeah!" lots of people said. "Yeah," said Felicia Entwhistle, "we're getting a little bored with this, to be honest. Why don't we play a game or something?" "How 'bout we don't," snapped Felicia's irritable companion, Nedra. "How 'bout we get on outta here and never come back." A few people nodded and murmured in agreement. Other people followed their lead and began nodding and murmuring themselves. Ten minutes later the building was empty of all occupants. It was 3:40 PM. At 3:41 PM a Coke can fell from its shelf in a St. Louis, MO vending machine into the vending machine tray, from which the slender hand of Leslie Best plucked the can and held it to her cheek. The bruise she held the can to was the size of a 12 oz. ribeye steak. The can was a 12 oz. can of Coke. Different kinds of ounces. Leslie preferred the metric system. The can contained about 354.8823552 milliliters of Coke. Leslie sat down on a bench in the locker room and thought about her broken face. There wasn't much to think about, other than the ball hitting her, so she moved on to thinking about her upcoming wrestling match. It was to start in less than three hours. She was exhausted from the eighteen holes she'd just played, and of course her face was in great pain.