So I was on this job, right, and I had the shits. So I go to use the john. Left my gun outside on the table. Didn't think it mattered—it didn't tend to matter. Anyway, I sat down, did my business, read my monthly comic rag for a bit—nothing spectacular, as far as shits go—then I stood up, wiped, flushed, and went to leave the bathroom. But then there was this other guy standing there when I opened the door—a bald guy in a beige jacket—and he was pointing my own gun at me. Stared at him for a few seconds. Didn't say anything. Didn't threaten him or nothin'. Couldn't even if I wanted to. And then that motherfucker fired at me. Stained my suit with blood. Ruined it. Terrible day.