Well, he intelligently didn't front the money like they asked, so they attacked him, kneed him in the face, and chipped off the
top part of one tooth. You see, they were our last resort, our last call, and it was a hesitant deal. Two of us went up to make the
transaction, where they only allowed one person entry. The holder of the cash. So when he politely declined
on the frontal, as they had to "run upstairs" to grab the goods, they wailed on him, and we
lost one-hundred-forty dollars. Not the biggest sum of money, but for as kind as our holder was, no violence was even remotely necessary. Yet, just so one man back at the house wouldn't bitch about his stolen twenty,
I gave him the other twenty I had. Honestly, I lost my money too. Why the fuck do I feel the need to
give him his back? And even then he made a huge deal out of it, and he didn't lose one cent. Fuck it.

But Gents, let's look around and see where we live?
WE LIVE IN ----------.
HOW FUCKING GANGSTER ARE YOU? HOW MUCH OF A HARDCORE HUSTLER?
Move to Cali, move to New York. Then we'll talk.

I found myself another man, but for a month he's going to be away, and I am not looking forward
to his absence even slightly. He is very much different from the last kid I was with,
and I like it.

I took a hit of acid a week ago. It was one of the most phenomenal things I have ever experienced.

I'll explain more later.

Raven.