Jeremy crouched behind the trash cans outside the house of “H”. It was late, closer to midnight than to ten and Jeremy waited anxiously for his last mark to arrive home. All Jeremy knew about “H” was that he worked on a dump truck or something and that on the back of his left hand was a birth mark in the shape of an H. He never bothered learning their names. Knowing their names only made it harder. Absent mindedly “H” got out of his truck, a beat up old Ford. He was scrolling through his phone as he fumbled with grabbing up various papers and things. He paused for a moment while he continued to scroll through his phone. Jeremy watched anxiously, his palms sweating. “This is the last one, one more and it’s all over” Jeremy told himself. “H” dropped his keys in the driveway as he simultaneously attempted to lock his truck and compose a response to a particularly humorous article. Jeremy slowly crept out from behind the trash cans while he pulled a small knife out from the waist band of his sweats. Suddenly there was a loud bang as a cat knocked down a series of trash cans just down the street. “H” turned quickly, startled; he tried to discern the nature of the noise. With a shrug he bent over to pick up his keys and continued to scroll through his phone, as he locked the old truck. For the first time, since arriving home, “H” looked away from his phone; he looked around to see an empty yard on a quiet street. He put his phone away and walked up to the silent house. Jeremy crouched behind the trash cans again, just out of view of “H”s front porch. His pulse raced as the knife fell limply to the ground. He pulled up his right sleeve to reveal a series of birth marks running down his arm. “D” “E” “A” “T”. Jeremy began to weep.