“The knife belongs to me.” I said angrily, “ this lunatic sold it because we got into an argument.” The poor lady at the pawn shop and the confused cashier had to be confused. My wife and I had an argument earlier, and we had called it quits. I told her this was the last time and she had stole my knife and took it to the pawn shop. She had the audacity to text me and send me a picture of the place. So I drove 45 minutes from work to go get it back. The lady looked at me and said “ I bought it, you can buy it back.” I looked at her blankly, “ ma’m unless you want to know the gruesome stories and things that knife has seen id give it back, but for hassle I’ll give you the money.” The woman then out her hand out and asked me for “sixty dollars.” I laughed and handed her the money. Sixty dollars? Sixty dollars???? Sixty dollars for a custom made Swiss Army knife made in the 1960s that was handed down for generations, that had killed more people than the population of this shitty town? That girl had no sense about her. I woke up next to my knife and she was bleeding out. My dream, my violent nightmares, I had injured her. I called 9-1-1 and all I could get out was “ it was my knife.”