Frank O’Donell, a dismayed and infuriated homeowner, stands on the balcony of his upscale suburban home and surveys his salesperson-infested front yard.

For the past weeks, clusters of door-to-door solicitors have inexplicably appeared in the neighborhood and made it their mission to bother everyone within a walkable radius. It’s unclear exactly what they’re trying to sell because nobody’s willing to give them a chance to explain themselves. The neighborhood’s doors remain closed, leaving the salesmen nothing to do but stand around with their suitcases and cigarettes, staring blankly at the ground or engaging in phone conversations too distant and mumbly for anyone quite to make out–although there have been multiple reports of them ending calls with “over and out” on not just one but six separate occasions. 

Considering their high numbers, apparent dedication, and the fact that they end phone calls with “over and out,” the neighborhood’s residents can concur that the mysterious salesmen must be part of a highly organized and elite operation. Although little is known of their agenda, Frank has decided that they are not to be trusted under any circumstances. There are three of them in his front yard right now–the same trio that has been there for the past four days.

The salespeople are completely docile, barely moving except to move cigarettes to and from their clean-shaven faces. Frank has been standing on his balcony long enough to notice that the night sky looks almost cross-hatched–almost like someone filled it in with pencil.