The Job Interview The man walks into the room. I swallow, shifting in my chair, trying not to stare, trying not to look away. Who knew which might give him an excuse to kill me? He isn't big, only slightly taller than me, but that wasn't what you had to worry about, no. He smiles at me. Of course, he always smiles. Teeth stained by coffee were bared in the devil's grin, his greyish-pink gums exposed. He has his hands in the pockets of his pants. If you didn't know who he was, you might've laughed if you saw a man dressed so strangely. But I knew who he was. Everyone knows who he is. And no one laughs. No one except for him, of course.