It was a rainy day out, and the tears of God streamed down from above, cooling the earth's fury, and absolving man's sin. It fell upon the skyline of a city below The people who were coming out of the buildings now wore coats, and held umbrellas above their heads, as though the sky itself were falling, and the world were to end. Maybe it was, it was like an ocean downpouring on that city below. It was just before noon.

Through that mass of umbrellas and coats walked a person walking slower then the rushed pace of the rest. He seemed to have a less frenzied purpose then the rest of the people out there, but nobody could really tell. He just kind of meandered by them, and these wealthy businessmen and entrepreneurs; this kaleidoscope of the industrial elite, it seemed to just ignore his existence, as if he were an insignificant detail as far as they were concerned. They didn't know him, they weren't kin of him. Besides, he just looked so tired and down trodden. Surely, this was due to poor luck, and the contagious kind.

He wore garb much like the rest of them, this intense looking man, this intensely miserable looking man, thirty-esh, but the bags under his eyes and the wrinkles upon his brow, it made him seem as though he were a stoner of some kind, forever lost in a haze of self-deprecation. But this he was not.

He continued through that rain without an umbrella, even though the weather channel had insisted on the need for one. He just held the big tan overcoat tighter around himself, and accepted the tears of God to muss his black hair a bit. He continued on his way through the heinous rain, which blotted the sun from the sky, and filled the sky with misty grey, at least nigh that skyline. But this man came with a specific purpose, and the misty atmosphere did not acoste him. It allowed him to proceede on his way.

He continued to turn into a small backstreet, and after passing several small shops in the shadow of the skylines massive monuments of human will and power, he found thew establishment he was looking for. It was a small, old looking bar, with the diamond pattern in stained glass windows, the dark brick walls, and the rich oaken door. There hung a sign written in olde english overhead, which bade him name to his destined arrival.

'Samuels'...this is the place...

Tony opened the door, which cause a bell to ring, earning a heavenly angel its wings, and signaling his arrival, soaked, upon the mortar threshold. the style within, as met his eye, was similar to the style without. It was a place of oak panneling, fine wooden tables shined and waxed to a sheen, and floors of a mix orf marble and dark green carpeting. The walls withi were smooth, and painted a deep navy blue.

He walked from the threshold, all soaked to the bone, to his temporary repreive, which another called home. This was the one named Daniel Glade. The soaking wet, miserable looking man looked all about, but the bar was empty. He looked about a bit with tired eyes, harrowed by countless demons slain, but found no purchase for his sight. He saw nothing. He looked along behind the bar, everywhere. The lights were all on, this dark day, but the bartender so gentle was not to be seen. He coughed, then spoke, this tall, proud old dog of a man.

"Hello?" His voice had the ring of italian.