He was always so quiet, so unnoticeable. Not much was known about him and how you met in the first place was like a dark spot in memory. So tall, strong, but ready to melt at the sight of a homeless puppy.

Your meetings were quiet, moments awkward. He didn't talk much; he preferred to listen. He often asked to help him treat his wounds. The Joker's voice is so deep, but he spoke so rarely that over time the sound of his voice was forgotten.

Of course, you tried to find a twinkle in his empty eyes. Evening, even night. Empty alley. You and the Joker. Why not take a photo? It’s so atmospheric here.. but pointing the camera at the two of you, he quietly muttered, after a long silence “Don’t take pictures, please... there’s nothing on my face but wounds..”. It sounded as unexpectedly as it ended. Silence.