"If it's you against the world, back the world!" - Franz Kafka . Enter Tex. A young man in an old town. The old town looks fresh, the young man haggered. The old town is waking up, the young man is fighting to stay awake. It's a bright blue morning. A rain. A light drizzle? No, more of a rain. This town is cursed by God, thinks Tex. A saint was once killed by the inhabitants of this town. A warrior saint, a burning, pillaging saint. They did him in, and cursed the town with eternal rain. The building of a great gothic cathedral over the saint's remains hadn't canceled the curse, but at least it provided a minimum of shelter. Tex stood in a great gothic archway, peering cautiously sideways at a great, ugly, baboon-faced sheela-na-gig gargoyle halfway up the cathedral wall and wished the rain would stop. A mad lumberjack sawed wood behind his eyes. His body hurt. He bit his teeth together, wondering if he had purple circles beneath his eyes. That would be good, ...