I'm on the precipice. I look up and down the block - nothing, no one. It's a quiet neighborhood at nighttime. Every house is shrouded in darkness except the one in question. Lights emanate from inside. Someone is home, waiting. I look down at the address, then back up at the house. Nothing. I take a step closer, on the sidewalk now. Still no visible numbers. Damn. Could this be wrong? There's a chill in the air, nervous goosebumps arise on my bare arms. My heart is pounding. I am motivated to be quick, efficient, but I lack confidence. I take a couple steps closer. Still, nothing. I have to do this, I have to make a choice: guess or snoop. Commit and maybe I'm wrong. Investigate and maybe I'm caught. 50/50 or 9-1-1. I recall my clothing; a black shirt, dark jeans, a black hat. I'm carrying a conspicuously shaped bag, perfect for the tools of my trade. I take another step. I'm exposed now. A winding path to front doorstep is covered in crunchy leaves. I am exposed and noisy. Where are the damn numbers? I proceed even closer, the job must get done. As I reach the point of no return, the front door swings open. This is it. Eternity passes as the resident looks me up and down, evaluating my purpose. I stand frozen, unsure. I can only muster one question: "did you order a pizza?"