He who can trust himself as much as he rejects others will be happy. Hidden in the sea of ​​people, playing this strange role, no one knows, no one pays attention. Find an impromptu running outfit just to go unnoticed.At 7 o'clock in the morning, along the riverside park, there are runners everywhere.In a city where every second counts and nerves are on edge, everyone is running, both to exercise their bodies and to erase the traces of last night's indulgences and prepare for the stress of the new day. A bench; rest your feet on the chair to tie your shoelaces while you wait for the target to approach.The brim of the hat lowered in front of the forehead somewhat blocks the line of sight, but it can also hide his face.He just took the opportunity to calm his breath so as not to shake his hands.Sweating is okay, nobody notices, it doesn't give away anything, here, everyone is sweating.

When he appears, let him run over first, and then start running again in small steps by yourself after a while.Follow not far nor near until the time is right. The same scene has happened seven times.Every morning, the same time.Each time, the temptation to act was stronger than the previous one.But success only belongs to those who are well prepared.There is no room for error. He showed up, running down Charles Street, his routine.Then wait for the traffic light to turn red and cross the first four intersections of the side road on the west side of the expressway.Vehicles drove to the west of the city in file, and people rushed to work.

He ran to the zebra crossing.The little glowing figures on the traffic lights have already begun to flash.In the direction of Tribeca and Financial Street, cars drove across the zebra crossing one after another, but he still went his own way.As usual, he raised his fist and pointed his middle finger up in response to the car horn, then turned left and ran up the sidewalk along the Hudson River. He would join the other runners for another twenty blocks, happily leaving those less than him far behind while cursing those who surpassed him.They were nothing special, just ten or twenty years younger than him.When he was eighteen, he was one of the first people to come for a run in this part of the city before anyone else.The pier built of wooden piles, now nowhere to be seen, used to smell of rust and fish.The smell of blood.The city he lives in seems to have changed a lot in the past twenty years, it has become younger and more beautiful; and for him, the years have begun to carve marks on his face.

On the other side of the river, the neon lights of Hoboken go out as the day dawns, followed by Jersey City. Don't let him slip under your nose; he'll run off the pavement when he reaches the Greenwich Street intersection.Must act before this.That morning, he didn't run to Starbucks and order a hot mocha as usual. On the No. 4 breakwater, the shadow that has been following him secretly will meet him there. One more block.Speed ​​up and run into the crowd that often gathers here, because the road narrows, and the slow runners will inevitably block the fast runners.The long needle slipped quietly down the sleeve, and the palm held it firmly.

Start between the lumbar spine and the sacrum.Just one clean stroke, piercing deeply through the kidney, then upwards to cut through the abdominal artery.When the long needle is pulled out, it leaves a wound in the body that doesn't heal, and by the time someone notices what's going on, comes to his rescue, and takes him to the hospital and into the operating room, it's a foregone conclusion.It is not easy to get to the hospital in this morning rush hour. Even with the horn honking to clear the way, the road condition is so bad that the ambulance driver has nothing to do. If it was two years ago, he probably still had a chance to survive.But since the government closed St. Vincent's Hospital to widen the road, the nearest emergency center is the one on the opposite side of Riverside Park, east of the city.Bleeding profusely, he will soon die from bleeding.

He doesn't feel pain, at least not particularly.It's cold and getting colder.He would tremble, lose sensation in his limbs, clenched his teeth and could not speak, and what could he say?Said he felt a sharp stab in the back?great!What conclusions can the police draw? The perfect crime does exist, and even the best cops will tell you in retirement that unsolved crimes are a constant burden on their consciences. Here he is.This action has been practiced thousands of times against sandbags, but the feeling of piercing a long needle into the human body should be completely different.The key is not to stab the bone.If it hits a lumbar vertebra, it means complete failure.The long needle should penetrate deeply and then quickly retract into the sleeve.

After that, continue to run away according to the previous pace, don't look back, blend into the running crowd, and leave no trace. So much preparation for only a few seconds of action. Total death would take more time, maybe a quarter of an hour later.But this morning, around 7:30, he was certain to die.