Inside, he headed for one of the job search kiosks as the restless queue of awaiting claimants stared at him for various reasons, the overall one bein... boredom. He stabbed at the touchscreen, flicking through the list of job options, for something, anything, that looked remotely appealing. The money per hour for most of the things he could do on the list was unappealing to say the least.One of the members of staff that was floating about, come over “Can I help you?”“Not really to be honest, I’m. He put on hisblack jeans, black sweatshirt, and his black winter"burglar" hat. He laced up his boots, and just foreffect he slid the sheath for his 4" blade onto hisbelt. He took the knife out and looked at in the lightof his desk lamp. He kept good care of the knife as ithad been his fathers. He polished it and sharpened itregularly. He saw his own face mirrored in the blade.There was a path leading out behind his house that ranparallel to the street. He could take it most of theway, but he. More

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