"Your--" John frowned, eyes drifting down to his pad out of comfort and habit. "I'm not sure what you mean, mister. I don't recognize you, if that's what you mean. But if I'm being honest, there's a lot about my life I don't remember, so it's nothing personal."

He rubbed his chin a little thoughtfully and a little uncomfortable, peering up again. His blue eyes fixed on the mask, where the eyes would be if he could see them. He opened his sketchpad and flipped past a couple of used pages -- a woman, a sky, a sun -- to a fresh page.

"I don't have anything I can offer you except for a drawing, I'm sorry."