He held the blade by its tip, tilting it and watching the moonlight glisten off it's edge. The ray of light reflected onto the wall across him and he moved the metal back and forth, watching the light dance. Flicking his wrist upward, he easily flipped the letter opener through the air and caught it, flat and cool, across the palm of his hand. Strange, he thought, staring intently into the small sliver of reflection in his hand, how the person staring back always seemed to change, shifting with each unannounced tick of the second hand of the clock on the wall.
He was shaken out of his reverie by a loud "pop" and the muffled sound of arguing. He sighed. There were moments, moments like this, that he wished he didn't live so close to the train station. There were always people arguing. People he would like nothing more than to throw kitchen utensils at.
But that was illegal.
He squinted out the window to see what had disturbed him. A woman stood, arms-crossed and annoyed, glaring at her companion who seemed to think something was much more amusing than she did.
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