One evening, long ago, or so I imagine, I met a man while walking along the street. He had a tear-shaped tattoo under his right eye. The man explained the tear was a symbol of death, for the man he murdered. Was the man guilty, I asked? Or innocent? The man shook his head. I can not say.

I thanked him and we departed. Later that same night, I saw another man appear from the shadows of a street lamp. When our eyes met, I turned and fled. Upon this man’s face, I swear, I saw no tears, no tattoos. Imagine! The countless murders the man must have committed beyond our capacity to grasp.