Your father was a dish-washer at Simsims Pizza Parlor, or at least that’s what you’d thought for all these years. But now, you sat here, tied to a chair in this cold, empty concrete room, and across from you sat a man, who did not look too amused.

“Where is your father operating from?” He asked, his hands pressed together on the table, the lights dim. You didn’t know, you didn’t even know your father did that kind of work, but this man wasn’t going to accept that answer.