I have a purpose now.
I’ve never been more ashamed. I’ve never been happier.
For all my wandering and all my searching for a clue, I have found one thing to be true.
Killing makes my back hurt.
I take a Darvoset every morning and Oxycondine every night. My world is a fog. Last night I hurt my wrist when the crowbar hit a brick wall instead of the much softer middle school principal/pederast crying and dying in the alleyway.
I have a different appreciation of the words “Dead Weight” now.
The newspapers call me a pervert and a deviant. They can not see the message, the gift. I am a true American hero, I am fighting for individuality.
As of this date over 30,000 men have applied for a name change. For the first time in history no babies have been blessed with mediocrity.
And yet I still must work. I am not yet truly alone. A status of being I’ve been destined to.
“Hey buddy, you got a light?”
The guy I’ve been watching crosses the street.
“Hi, I’m James, what’s your name…”