Like all of the men sitting in the clearing before him, Keith had a few select tools of his trade. He crouched down in the soft dirt and took off his jacket; it was both to expensive and pretty for him to even begin thinking about wearing into work. It just happened to have enough pockets for all his tools and was stylishly badass.
His hands work their way into all the pockets, drawing out various items or leaving the compartments after a brief search. Out came a small silver knife, a vial of purple liquid, some crumpled notes, and a length of linen clothe bandaging
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