He was dressed for business in a tailored black suit. My eyes traveled from his face to his neck, where a set of waning moons were tattooed. They merged with clouds that billowed across his chest, cut through with beams of light. Though they were only partially visible beneath the unbuttoned collar of his red shirt, I had seen the entire thing and knew that angels battled along his sternum and stomach. It was a scene from Armageddon, the end of the world.
