Sixteen stab wounds, seriously delivered
She was a Korean woman, spoke passable English. We always exchanged pleasantries, and she called me “doctor” when I picked up my laundry. This time she was notably quiet, distant.
I didn’t figure it out until I got home and hung up my jacket, on the inside of which I noticed she’d pinned an envelope. It contained a photo I’d taken months ago, left and forgotten in one of my pockets. …
Sixteen stab wounds, seriously delivered
















