@sundcrland "That I'd agree with." He does not seem to move--yet one instant he is leaning against the historical society wall, face swallowed up by the crawling dark, and the next he holds a spitting match. The wood-smoke chases away the incensy reek of the damp. "It's darned miserable." Rosten produces two cigarettes from nowhere, offering one. "I won't tell ya not to suffer. Part of human nature. Brings us closer to the light. But I'll tell ya, kid--know damn well why yer suffering. And what ya hope to find down there." He bites the cigarette, almost grinning. His mask is white, not red, and it exposes too-bright eyes and sneering mouth. Yet something in its blank rawness is-- Not exactly like the photographs on the wall. Too solid. Too real. But close enough.
