We're a small town, barely a thousand people.
Everybody knows everybody else, or at least knows about them.
George is the town's weatherman. Had a job at a big television station before he got sick of city life and retired here.
Well, maybe not retired. More like cracked up after blowing a bunch of forecasts, getting fired... drinking a lot.
Whatever. He's a lousy weatherman, but the best we got.
When the tornado siren went off, he just laughed.
“No tornados today,” he said.
Those were his last words. During the cleanup, we found his body smashed against a tree.
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