On the road, between streets of madness, in the center of crossroad, a man might stand alone. Dying light was his company and his own steps were all he heard. One path led to a bright fortune and everything he could ever imagine. Another one led to indifference where he did not belong to anybody.
He packed with his sword sheated and his gun emptied. Why would a man carry such weapons in a long journey filled by nothing but dead rock and wild wind? He might choose one particular shadow but he would not. He might pray for a pair of angel wings but he refused. He waited until appointed hour which had not come along.
He walked in the middle of desert and heavy rain alone while anyone else walked by his right and left side. He could not decide. His choice was long gone.