:: 3:30 AM; the lights of Manchester stand stark against the starless night sky. Raymond Baker, still wearing all black, but lacking the sanguine brown stains that had marked his face since the announcement, sits alone on a bench in Lafayette Park. The trash bins overflowed, like, nobody gave a fuck about the West Side, or something. Baker sat, with his hands folded, an open bible before him. Observant eyes can see the bibles pages, stained brown with blood, several passages rendered illegible by the clearly old blood. One line was underlined in black ink.
When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written: “Death is swallowed up in victory."
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