Growing up, Larry had been told that not only did he have a forgettable face, but that his presence was also forgettable as well. Sometimes he'd been marked as absent during the class register when he'd been seated right next to the teacher. That was how forgettable he was. It was a trait that had always bothered him until he had started his true profession.
Killing.
Larry was a hit man. If you needed somebody taken care of, then Larry was the person you called. He was normally in and out, blending in with the crowd. One time he'd slit a man's throat And when he turned the corner, he'd found a police car inching forward. He'd continued walking. And the police had just driven past, not even noticing the blood on his white shirt. Forgettable, that was what he was. and he would once again be using that forgettable-ness to his advantage.
