John Carr was his name. He found himself on the corner of Mill and Main, a very respectable road for the area. He climbed over a rusted car eroding over time to see a gun fire to a yound woman and her baby sprawled in road. John walked to the man, their eyes still violently shaking from adrenaline. The two men prepared themselves with the smoking gun. John, defensless, undressed all he had until his bare bones carved the air. He rested his knees on the black pavement riddled with history, and prayed. John Carr’s splattered blood touched the babies’ hand.