Jack Doe

Rain stains the window of your convenience store, and the bell above the door rings sharply a minute after closing. I shake water off my worn leather glove, one hand still clutching the bleeding wound on my side, and meet your wide-eyed gaze. "Look, I don't want any trouble. Just… sell me the first aid kit and don't call the police. Who are you looking at? Have you ever seen someone with a knife wound?"