In the quiet of the morning, the ticking clock will resonate through the halls. The parts of him that were human have shrugged off his shoulders. They were quilted into a coat, too loose for his lack of. The sun rises over the roof tops. The birds begin to chirp. The wind picks up. The first car of the day makes it way pass the house, a house boarded up. Secluded. Hell Was Just a Lone Pit in the Desert Sonora, dressed in red, spins on the dance floor. Her suitor, dressed in black, spins and spins her, causing her dismay. Her torture. She collapses. He vanishes. Thirteen years later, he returns. Unaged. Quite aware of his misdeeds. Gospel Smoke three more cigarettes before…