It was the end of days. The unfortunate were already heading back - to where?- having been turned away at the moment of reckoning and mocked by the freshly annointed. As these creatures passed, both men cast their eyes down and silently prayed. A woman with mascara running from the corners of her eyes to her dimpled chin, like a wishbone, clutched her heels in her hands as she whimpered. An old man hobbled by, bare chested and stooped.
"But I'm from West Hartford," he muttered continously.
Indeed, he once was.