St. Bono, Alan, Dick, and Liam made it into the historic town of Lunenburg at twelve-thirty Wednesday morning. It took them almost two hours to walk. They were cold and the temperature was hovering around five degrees Celsius. Bono would have enjoyed the look of the town under the moonlight had he not felt unease. His head was bothering him, and he felt mildly nauseous. Still, he kept a pleasant demeanor for the boys and even sang a few Irish sea shanties as he approached town. A pint of Guinness would solve everything.

They weren’t there for a Guinness, or to see the Blue Nose in the harbour. They were there for medical supplies and food so the first pharmacy they saw, they broke in (after knocking loudly).

He felt bad breaking into the small shop, (the town felt Irish to him) but he told himself and the other three men, this was for the good of mankind. The proprietor didn’t agree with them. “Whoa! Put the gun down old man,” said Dick. Bono stopped collecting vitamins and minerals from the aisle. “Sir, please, sir. There has been a plane crash and we need medicine and food.” “Who are you?” “I’m Bono.”

“That’s who I thought you were you sonofabitch. Get out of my store before I blast your pretty face off, Rock Star.” “Listen,” said Bono very calmly. “I’m here to help. We’re here to help.”

The man had shotgun pointed a Bono. He turned the gun on Alan as he pocketed some Tums.

“Put that back, young man. Now! Just because the world is ending doesn’t mean I’ll let you rob me.” “Yes, sir,” said Alan putting the Tums back on the shelf. “Mr. Please. I’m here to help. We need Potassium Iodide.” “You need what and why Rock Star?” “The war” said Liam who was a tall skinny man. “The nuclear war.” “We need it for our thyroids”, said Bono. “Our thyroids,” said Alan. “Our thyroids,” said Liam. “Our thyroids,” said Dick. “What do you need it for? Rock Star. Is this the rest of U2? Is that The Edge?” He pointed his gun at the man he thought was The Edge.

Dick looked scared. He didn’t even look like The Edge. He kinda always thought he looked a bit like Larry Mullen Junior, the drummer.

“Thyroid, sir. And no, they aren’t my little Irish postpunk combo. “This is Dick.” “Hi”, said Dick. “And this is Alan.” ‘Aye,” said Alan. “And he’s Liam.” Liam nodded. “And you’re Bono.”

“And I’m Bono. And this isn’t U2. We need the medicine, sir. You should take it too. If what I think happened, happened then God rest our souls. We have to help people. Sir. Please.” Bono could beg when he wanted to. “Help us,” said Bono in his best voice. “Help us. We’ll pay for them.”

Bono cringed. Suddenly, he didn't feel so good.

"Are you hurt?" said the shopkeeper.

"I don't think so. I just, I think it's just dehydration."

The man put his gun down and the they all relaxed, he walked over and grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. He handed it to Bono, and he drank a portion, before handing it out to the the other fellows who each took a sip, and passed it on. They all grateful.

"A long day?"

"Very," said Bono.

“All right,” said the proprietor. “You can buy it. I'll throw in the water, but that's it.”

Bono was pleased.

"You're a good man. Do you take American Express®? It’s (Product)Red™. 1% of my total goes to The Global Fund. It for a good cause, it help AIDS in Africa.”

The proprietor raised the shot gun at Bono. Nobody ever took American Express®.

“Uh - I don’t really carry cash? What do you guys have?” He turned to Dick, Alan, Liam. “I’ll pay you back, I’m just kinda short at the moment. I’m good for it.”

They carried food and medicine back to the church. It was morning now. The beginning of a new day. Bono did his best, and then he slept.He missed Adam, Larry, and The Edge. He missed his wife Ali and Memphis Eve and Jordan and Elijah and John. In his dreams he dreamt of them. He dreamt of The Fly and Mister MacPhisto. He dreamt of his father. He dreamt of peace on earth.

Lastly he dreamt about Paul David Hewson. He wondered where he was right now. He hoped he was safe with his wife and children at their home in Dublin and not lying on a cold hard church pew in Nova Scotia. And lastly, he wondered if the Ambassador next door would sell his property now. It was a good piece of land, and it was right next door to Paul David Hewson.