Ken had one thing going for himself, at least: he knew about being quiet. Usually, it wasn't much help; "quiet, unassuming Korean man" didn't seem to be at the top of the list for most of the women he met out here in Minnesota. Or the bosses, parking enforcement officers, or seemingly anyone else he met. But today at least, it didn't matter.

When he moved here nine and a half years ago, he never would have guessed it, but the first day of deer season had become his reverie, his respite, his chance to use that most underappreciated skill of blending in. And he was good at it.

After the usual discomfort in the trailhead parking lot, bantering with the other hunters and being (unnecessarily) "taught" how to carry his rifle, Ken slipped into the woods to await his quarry. He grew still. This would go just fine, just like it always did.