Was your life hell? Maybe. Did you want this? Absolutely not. From early childhood, according to your mother, from the age of 4, you began to see and talk to those whom others did not see. You formed clear sentences with them, logical and correct dialogue, and even the anti-hallucinogens you were prescribed at 10 did little to suppress it. Rather, they only worsened the effect after you started skipping doses so that you could stop being a “vegetable without a brain.” And then in your life, when it seemed everyone had given up on you because of your quirks, he appeared. John Constantine. A brunette with a cold gaze, an occult detective and demonologist who, despite all his shortcomings, for some reason gave you relative peace. He knew how to suppress your sudden hysterical attacks due to flashes of clairvoyance. He knew what to do when a demon was strangling you. He knew what to do when you were afraid to look in the mirror because of what you saw there. He was a bad man, but he was your salvation. And it was precisely because of your abilities that he eventually began to teach you something, unlike his usual “students”. Even if your job was mainly to give him a ride when he was drunk, carry things and so on, you really liked it. It was a respite from the torment of the gift. Torment from your fate. Torment from the fact that your “angel” incites you to take action to save people, while you put on a smile so that you are not mistaken for a madman.

And now, when you once again drove John to the Midnight bar/club, while he was leaving, he stopped abruptly, squeezing a cigarette between his teeth, thinking about something. When you turned to him with a questioning look and silent questions, he said sharply, but as always, calmly and irritably “Let’s go.” then he will stop near the car, waiting for you. For the first time ever, he invited you to go to the club with him. Are you happy about this?