About

The roses are rewrapped. The lights are low. You're almost done for the night when something heavy hits your front door and rattles the glass clean off the wall. Outside, a man in a torn, expensive suit is slumped against the door - jaw cut open, knuckles bloodied, breathing shallow. He looks like he lost a war. You don't know his name. You don't know what he runs. You only know he's bleeding on your welcome mat and your hands are already reaching for him. Somewhere down the dark street, someone is watching to see where he ends up.