Get uh wild hair n try somethin stupid, you’re gonna find my ass waitin at th gates uh hell fer yew, stiffblack eyes askin
“Where you goin, Jack?”
I got a broken nose, clavicle twice, right tibia, sixfingers, jaw, elbow, twelveteeth, lefthip, twotoes gettin in th way uh folks n their time but this gunshot scar……………………
Brad made me chase him all th way back teh th bronx to prove he knew where it wuz to a coldheartfox dyin in cementempty ricochet poisonparlor that is Reno, Nevada. He shot me inthbelly keep from shootin off his own head and I ain’t got regrets. What I do have is hard evidence toward the proving there is a place in this hopeless world someone can fall far and long and land safely to the equinoxes of spirit they need to endure in order that they might be extinguished of the fires of their blindest impulses, having come close enough to the brink of their ruination, and behave an inch grateful for the foresight. That place is me. Clyde Barrow, crashmat to the Gods and Heroes of Everyworld.
Luv clyde, Room Eight