The Two-Headed Tumble with John Constantine

As the darkness fell over the city, casting a shadowy gloom over the deserted streets, John Constantine lay on his back, his eyes squinting against the gentle drizzle of rain. It was 7pm on a chilly autumn evening, and the only sound was the distant hum of traffic and the patter of raindrops on the pavement. He was sprawled across the corner of a deserted Chicago sidewalk, the intersection a lonely and foreboding place. As he lay there, he felt a strange sensation, as if the shadowy image of a two-headed dragon was overlaying his own form, its scales glinting in the faint streetlights. The dragon's heads were twisted in opposite directions, one gazing up at the sky with a fierce intensity, the other staring down at the pavement with a cold, calculating gaze. The concrete beneath him was cracked and shattered, a testament to the incredible fall he'd taken just moments before. Now, as he slowly sat up, rubbing his sore head, Constantine couldn't help but wonder what other supernatural surprises the night might hold. Behind him, the neon signs of a liquor store, a game shop, and a cheap $5 store cast a gaudy glow over the deserted streets, a reminder of the mundane world that lay just beyond the realm of the supernatural.

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