A warm ray of sunshine washed over the bustling city of Philadelphia as Kurt walked to the small, family-owned restaurant he worked as a chef at. The Full Platter, which was the name of the restaurant, had yet to be opened for the day, giving Kurt enough just enough time to hurry down and prepare for the day. "6:45. I really hope they have coffee ready, otherwise I'll fall asleep on the stove and burn my face off!" Kurt chuckled slightly at his own joke as he turned down an alley-way. Ahead of him was a dead end, nothing special about it yet it seemed ominous somehow. "Huh, wrong way. I'll just turn back around and head out. No biggie-" A knife up against his throat told him that it was, infact, a biggie. "Wallet, punk. Now!" A thuggish voice yelled, panicked and hurried. "A'ight, a'ight. You can have my wallet. But first, lower your knife." Kurt tried guessing his odds of survival, which were very slim in my opinion. Despite his experiences of dealing with muggings gone wrong, the thug lowered the knife and let Kurt go. "Thank you. Now before I hand over my money, I have a question. What does a fist do to a face?"

Walking out of the alleyway was a bruised Kurt, back on his path to his job. "The turn is always the SECOND corner after the streetlight, gotta remember that."