I started to listen to the jazz station every day on the way to work. I was tense all the time. It was like I kept forgetting something. This morning, there was white noise on the jazz station, and on every station, and a voice I half-remembered read out a name, over and over … your name. Now I know. The gun has always been in my glove compartment, and you can try running but this world was built for your punishment, and my duty, my eternal, infinite duty. Time to get back to work.