It was a time of self-imposed damnation. A trail of tears from Amarillo to Galveston and back. Over and over without respite. High desert, punishing traffic jams through DFW and Houston, then on to the marshlands littered with the man sewers of filthy refineries. He let all the ancient demons free and they were merciless as they roamed. Guilt, regret, frustration, helplessness all took baseball bats to his temperament. They were the old guard that She had unleashed from her stables with such fervor in the time before. For no good reason he would replay the haunting memory of a recurring childhood nightmare whenever he would pass Huntsville, that obnoxious statue of Sam Houston and the enclave of convicted murderers and rapists who were too stupid to not get caught and now sat in rows of co
