“I've been here for three hours pal, haven't been sober for five. My tab is probably $1,000 now. Do you think you could spare some cash?”
“Who the hell are you?” replies the man in the stool next to you, so hammered that he falls off of said stool as soon as he turns back to the bar.
You stumble out of the bar, past the guard, without a word. Once outside, you stand up and think off how bad your scam is going. That was the fifth person you tried, and only a measly $3.50 and a handful of peanut shells to show for it. The second man you tried was still pretty sober, so he caught on quick, and that’s how you got the peanut shells. Don’t really know why you didn't just throw them away. Probably a momento or something.
Off to you go, on a bike so old grandmas called you “old-school”, to a small shack you built out of scrap lumber you bought for pennies on the dollar. Ever since your wife left, you’ve had nowhere to live. Some friends housed you a while, but eventually they too left. You had nothing, you were nothing, and you won't ever be anything. And that was your last thought of the night, because sleep was hunting you, and you've been shot.
You wake with a jolt, as a thunderstorm has broken out. The skies are gray, and the rain is pouring down so hard that you can barely see. With a crash, a pickup truck smashes into the street lamp that your shack is by. The power cables snap, shooting sparks everywhere as the poll falls onto your only home, destroying it. You run over to your now rubble home and collapse. Lightning strikes nearby, but you don’t care, because there's nothing for it to hit. Lightning bolts strike all around you, and then a bolt hits you. Everything is white, then, you feel nothing but a pleasant warmth roll over you. You were no longer on Earth.