“This will only hurt a lot,” he said. He
was sweaty, greasy and covered with blood. He held the knife, a large thing;
something like John Rambo might carry into the Vietnamese jungle, up and
twisted it in the light. It glimmered along its edge, sharp enough.
The man he spoke to was named Kevin and
only a few hours before, Kevin had been an accountant. He was good at his job,
he was moving up,
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