• it was a perfectly normal day in New Orleans 1920. The flower buds were a full bloom. It was spring time after all.

The clock tower chimed signaling to everyone in New Orleans that it was 12 o’clock in the afternoon the clock tower tribes every hour. And inside that Clocktower, lived a 21-year-old man named Elliot Harrow. A fine, dapper young man. Precise, on time. He was the town clock keeper every time he passed women swooned, men nodded.

He had a perfectly good view from the town. It was just another day. Another perfect, calm, predictable day so predictable that Elliot already knew what was gonna happen the second he was going to polished a brass that he borrowed from a grandfather clock.*