I'm a trusting soul. When some poor unfortunate raps on my door after the end of the world, I don't have it in me not to let them in. When their teeth are a suspiciously perfect white, I attribute it to a rigorous before-bed hygiene routine. Their red eyes? We're all tired. Their hairless armpits? They must be a swimmer.
And when I wake up the next morning and find one of my other guests has been perfectly trisected into a series of hot, damp bin bags, I reason they must have had an accident using my Kai Shun knife set.
