Walking into the room I can barely make out the faces of those seated by the walls. Only about thirty by thirty feet, and ventilated by just a single sky light in the ceiling, the room does not breathe well. Smelling of dead cigarettes and old piss, I almost want to vomite as I take an empty seat.

Looking around, five faces stared back at me. One through glasses, one through dark black shades, and another three just staring. Each was wearing something to be observed.

The sunglasses, grouped with a long thin stick and two different colored socks, seemed to mumble “I’m blind.”

Take the glasses, add a suit jacket with perfectly accented tie and belt, this seasons shoes, and a hilighted hair cut and he’s screaming “I’m gay!” from the closet.

The other three, however, are harder to peg. Each has on a very similiar attire, and are obviously here together. They each seem large and thuggish as well, but that’s as far as my eye can take me.

I’m in an all black suit. Trying to say anything but hitman.