Vic was walking home when a filthy man popped out of the mouth of the alley, grabbed him by the arm, turned and threw him up against the brick wall. Before Vic could do anything, the man was on top of him, reeking of alcohol, urine and the dank smell of wet dog.

“Hey- " Vic started angrily, struggling, but stopped as the man drew a long knife. “Uh there’s no need for trouble.”

“Sell me your soul. I’ll give you anything you want.” The homeless man’s eyes were wide, his hair wild, clothes torn and stained; the perfect picture crazy and homeless.

Vic gaped at his assailant.

“My soul?” he asked incredulously.

“Yeah, we don’t have much time.”

“I’m not sure I have a soul, but if I did, I wouldn’t want it in your hands.”

The man snarled and slashed with the knife.

Vic fell to the ground in a growing pool of his own blood. Instead of pain, he felt a warm glow, accompanied by a wecloming light. Vic knew at that moment that he had made the right choice. He wouldn’t have given this feeling up for anything.