The cross drags. A frightened child stares. Moist round eyes gather the crude spectacle of death a bleeding struggling weakened Son.
Confused tears surge as the maniacal procession bellows past in sport and fun.
With horror this child glimpses your pained face and wonders to what end loud humans race. That is what the soldiers did. Ha, fine, I'll get your money later then. It offends them. The shrill din tells me as much, such noise beyond reason.