When you were young there was always a battered-looking boy named Simon who'd eye your orange tree in your backyard. So you gave some to share. He'd sit there furrowing his brows at the fruit he couldn't peel leaving holes and a sticking mess on his hands. Leaving you laughing and peeling his orange for him.

Years later, you lost contact with Simon when he enlisted. While walking in the park reminiscing, you notice a masked man struggling to peel an orange, just like Simon once did.