The sky sat in judgment on a cold spring morning. All the people could be seen staring out of their empty shells, shells that housed warm souls and harbored dark thoughts, translucent in the light of day but opaque at night. If there is one thing I have learned, it is that night masks the deeds of day. It erases evidence and lays false trails for madmen to wander. It creates stories from air and air from words, notes from songs and dreams from the dying whispers of pretty girls, secrets from apologies and forgiveness from death.