I sit in the driveway, figuring the exact spot to place the mines. I know a lot about people, and would normally tell where someone would park with pinpoint accuracy, but he is unpredictable. He knows just as much as I do.

He did show up in a Russian submarine while I was ice skating. I’m still not entirely sure how he found me, or how he acquired said vehicle — but I know why.

You took my hat. I like my hat.

He’d sounded laughable then, like he was quoting a movie to see how I’d react. I’d repressed a giggle as he took back his crutch of a hat, after all, it was of no use to me. Only a trophy, and he took it back. He’d found me there; he’d find me here.

I finally laid the mines and headed in to read while I awaited his arrival. Finally, I hear a knock. I set the Anarchist Cookbook to the side and grab the remote to the mines. I open the door, and he gushes about how we understand each other, how he has to know who I am.

Click. Boom.

“What the hell was that?” He moves a lot more when he yells.