PROLOGUE
PICTURE
You know too that you despise the people. Because you are stuck here with them, but every moment here seems choked with thick clouds of dust. And you see that the ground is naught but mud stepped flat, for they walk bare through the soil. And all sorts of deviants prowl about the thinway tunnels of red clay that come about from the main square. Their lives, you do not know or care to understand. Their eyes empty and pale, their forms unshapely, gangly and bulged. You begin to humor why the lawmaker was dispatched here in the first place.
The hanged man has been rotting there, ever since you came.
The woman is still playing by the river...
You should do something.