The Reverend Jack Daniels, so titled by the other vagrants for his frequent bouts of religious insanity which stemmed from the consumption of fine Tennessee whiskey, woke up to a repetitive clanging sound. The sound, violently metallic in nature, split his hangover wracked skull like an axe against a block of wood. He had regained consciousness with a angry wail.

The ringing, smashing, clanging noise was being produced by an especially rotund police officer. The officer was pinned beneath the deformed steel support structure of a demolished Krispy Kreme donut store. A large chunk of reinforced concrete was in his hand, filling the role of a blacksmith’s hammer, as he tried to bend his rebar prison away from a pair of bloodied legs.

The Reverend scanned the horizon of a ruined world. Taking in the destruction and chaos all around him, he grabbed some dusty donuts and took greedy bites.

“And the meek inherited the earth,” he murmured at the cop while walking off into his fire lit kingdom of the New World.