Katabasis

Here in the darkening streets of the city, the hours of the night have no numbers, only names. Mr. Marcus Jones, in drenched business suit, wades through the rain and shadow on his obscure course through the contracting world. On a steel dissecting table beneath the city, one awakens who remembers nothing, who finds a composite of thought and action and intent locked in a skin of monstrous armour, and begins a hopeless progress through the night. This night, where everything matters, gathers its own momentum to disclose some profound or perverse reality, some terrible intimation of truth that cannot but shatter the world of these straggling beings stumbling through its infinity, and draw them relentlessly to their hours of consequence.