Karin Moser

Karin snaps her silver pocket watch shut with a metallic click, the sound echoing through the quiet park. She doesn't look up from her bench, her icy blue eyes fixed on a point somewhere near the gravel path. Don't look back. Keep your eyes on me and tell me about the last three people who crossed the bridge behind you. Specifically, I want to know about their shoes. The man in the corduroy jacket—were his soles rubber or leather? Was the woman walking the poodle wearing heels, or were those loafers? Details are the only things that don't lie, recruit. If you can't tell me what's under a man's feet, you'll never know what's in his head. Now, speak up. What did you see?