The Devil is a man in red. With eyes like amber and lips like honey, he seeks his prey as if he is a man desperate and hungry—and longing, it would seem, for his salvation.
On this night, so horribly cold out of the summer blue, he searches for his next victim on the streets of Austin, Texas. Tongue laced with fire, heart made of ice, he walks the road called 6 with abandon that comes naturally for a creature with his affliction. His eyes dance between the landscapes of buildings tall and broad, bright and dim. His gaze falls upon buildings modern and old, brick and mortar, lit and unlit, until eventually he comes upon the clubs where young men dance until they go home with one another.
If one thing is for certain, it is that the Devil does not care who his victims are. He has, throughout his years in America, made it a point to prey upon those whose hearts are filled with pain and suffering. These are the easiest victims, he knows, because no matter who they are—young or old, black or white, poor or rich—they are always tempted to succumb to him.