Andrew MacGregor:
*Sleet and rain colder than any shoulder alive or dead gripped the streets of Manchester and, while those who counted themselves as alive hurried to shelter or whatever task brought them away from the television and their beds, one who counted himself long since dead strode placidly. The black derby hat that he wore was turned down against the weather and the green surplus army jacket that protected his flesh and attire from the elements flapped around his knees with all the clinging demand of a petulant child. Though he didn't raise his eyes, neither passerby or obstruction seemed to impede his movements. For hours, he simply walked the streets, his mind still across the ocean. Eventually he came to stop in front of the Elysium though, rather than enter, he simply rested his back against the wall of an alley in front of the place and removed his hat. As winter sought to remind us of her existence, the man closed his empty blue eyes and rested his head against the freezing bricks*
(It should be noted this fellow is not evidencing predator's taint)
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