Once, he’d toppled criminal empires with nothing but a gutful of bile and a burning need for vengeance. Fire had coursed through his veins. Time had slowed at his command. Death had poured forth from his hands on artfully rendered spirals.
But he’s older. He’d found love and lost it. Twice. Now he’s just a drunk with a pain pill problem. He can’t move his bowels if he throws them off the roof of his dingy Hoboken tenement.