A dull hush fell over the room as the house lights dimmed and the piano played. The purple sound of jazz settled with the crowd and they sipped their wine in contemplation. Tea candles flickered on their faces and their eyes closed. Their minds moved with the music as their bodies, clad in evening finery's, relaxed bask into the plush chairs. Lips took slow draws on filtered cigarettes, the embers glowing burnt orange.

Unseen by anyone a man hid in the shadows at the back of the room. He watched them slip into a haze, waiting until their eyes were sufficiently glazed and the musician to be in the middle of a particularly melancholy song, then he slips from is wallflower sentinel. He wandered through the room, toughing a shoulder here, a figure there, all the while slipping from the pockets and chair back suit jackets bill folds, silver lipstick tubes, credit cards and photos of the wife and kids.

As the jazz player finished his last wavering note, the man slips through a side door and into the dark ally, disappearing into the blackness.