About the book: year / Alan Beaumont walked through the automatic door of his office building and went down the wide steps to the sidewalk. The sky over DC was a monochrome gray cloud. It was raining lightly, but a few drops of water didn't bother him. Wet clothes? Whatever. Messy hair? He had no hair to ruin. This is long gone. Nothing could help maintain those once gorgeous curls. Not a pill. No potion. He opened the Zippo lighter with his thumb and middle finger and lit the cigarette stuck in his mouth. Smoking was perhaps the only real pleasure he had.