Randolph stood across the street from the graffiti Jesus. The body was painted normal, in proportion to the cross to which it was nailed, but the head was huge. A giant caricature head hanging down in despair like a bobble-head with a busted neck spring. The savior’s eyes were security cameras, not painted, real. They were there long before graffiti Jesus appeared. These eyes really did follow you as you walked by. That’s why Randolph stood here. He wanted those eyes to see him. Wanted the slime-ball he knew was glued to the monitors to know that he was coming.