Fuckn grumble. That was the tone of the moment. But more dark and brooding. Like someone caught in a mindfuck of solemn proportions. Which was John, the usually flippant and non committal lippy Brit.

He kept a watchful gaze over the park as he chain smoked. The air was moving somewhat and it caught his scruffy blonde hair as it wafted away what he exhaled. His mind was set, yet it was still displeased with what was to come.

Someone had to go. Someone always had to go. Mostly at the hands of time you'd hoped, yet it wasn't always the way, and some lives were written with a different bit of chalk.

Sometimes another hand got involved and pushed those on the clockface forward. And these were usually outlined with human chalk at human induced death scenes, as the hand was at the end of an overcoat paid for by human suffering.

A runaway kite flew past the passenger door with a kid attached to it, both making for the open space in the green well kept communal park. It had a mix of civillians out for a fresh Vegas morning.

A women pushed a pram down a gravelly path that cut through the middle as she made her return trip. Two park benches had an elderly pair on each, one possibly a couple and the other looked to be old friends having a casual chat.

The kite and kid which were now being followed by a mother skipped past the pram and headed for the middle of the grassy area, which was flanked by native trees to the left and a pond with a lively group of ducks to the right.

The pram kept on and eventually squeeked past the front of the convertible John was seated in. He had a clear view of the whole scene before him. The trees off to the left blowing in the light breeze and in amongst the nature of it all the various innocence using the public space.

All innocent, except one. He was the man off in the distance a little, seated on a bench close to the ponds edge. Every now and then he'd toss some bread over the reeds and into the water toward whatever would have it, right now a pair of ducks.

As John lit another cigarette he watched closer as the black doberman leashed and attached to this owner sat patiently beside the bench. He looked the part. Ears back. Short tail. On alert, yet not overly reacting to its surroundings. 

The impressive looking dog got Constantine's attention the most yet it was the man he was here for. And the act to come that had his mind in fits, split between agreeing with his potential actions or not.

He had to do it. It was no longer just about him or his own agenda. It was about something more; it was aboit a code, a lifestyle. It was about this thing he'd somehow got himself caught up in.

Before today he was saving people from themselves, and shadows of themselves if you'd like. And if some were too far gone then he'd simply let them reap what they sowed; he'd let karma take its course.

Many in this life were somehow easy to turn, from giving to taking. From affirming to negating. The soul would carry on regardless on the victims end, yet as he puffed away and let the cigarette smoke join the light breeze, he couldn't help wonder what would happen to his after this. And if there would even be an after this.

With some things, the soul shunned away. And if man listened to his head in spite of his heart, well then there was no telling if the inner spirit would stay for long. In life and in death, somethings were just never the same.

You could technically say that about everything but life attracted more life and if one engaged in the play of death and chose that hand then with it came what was requested. You pick up one side of the stick and you get the other.

Constantine waited, watched and pondered.