Footsteps echo menacingly in the back corridors of an alleyway just off of Davis Street. You'd been scoping this place out for some prey when a man, unbeknownst to himself, volunteered in becoming your latest victim by walking in this direction. As he comes closer, a cruel smile parts your face, and you pull out your abalone handled switchblade. Slowly standing up, you're about to strike when the man turns around and stares you directly in your brown eyes with his deep-sea blues.
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