Every evening I wear the same attire, a grey non-descript uniform blending into the night, camouflaged from the paranoid yet justified glances of my prey.
My targets are selected at random by a faceless agency not prejudiced by colour, creed or age.
I slip into the night, cutting through the masses like a hot knife through butter, scanning the crowd for the latest unfortunate incumbent of my services.
The details in the communique were explicit in terms of where I would expect to encounter my target, this information provided is always correct…………………………..
Something is not right, I look behind me, I see a man in the same grey non- descript uniform, he passes quickly, performing his work with surgical precision, a red bloom appears immediately, I fall to floor, my life ebbing away.
They don’t offer you a gold carriage clock in my line of work, retirement is always bereavement!