It was a cool night. It had rained earlier in the afternoon, and the air was still thick with moisture. But the near-constant rustling wind kept any discomfort from the humidity to a minimum. John inhaled the fresh air deeply and sighed it back out. It was a beautiful night.

A car drove by as he continued down the deserted suburban sidewalk. Just got off from the night shift, maybe? John shrugged and checked his watch. It was 2:37 in the morning. He had to hurry. Increasing his pace to a brisk walk, he looked over the houses he passed carefully. Were it not for the faint flourescent light of the streetlamps, he never might have found what he was looking for: the address 1412, embossed on a mailbox standing alone at the front of a short driveway, like a guard standing at attention.

“This guy probably should’ve invested in one of those,” John reflected darkly. Yes, a guard at the front of his driveway probably would have done this guy some good. John was out to kill him, after all.