From the elemental-haunted swamps of Louisiana to the gray emptiness of Limbo, there's precious few places under Heaven where John Constantine hasn't paused to have a few drinks and drop some cigarette butts. Usually not too many people notice him, which is a lucky thing, since misfortune and mayhem inevitably follow in his footsteps. But wherever he goes, there's always someone - or something - that is drawn like a moth to his dark flame.

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