Seeing It Trough. ( To The Bitter End. )

I haven't covered my tracks too well. I became careless with age. From soldier to doctor to assassin and then back to doctor. I've travelled a long way to gain nothing and lose almost everything apart from my self respect.

This afternoon at about 3 O'clock the guy who broke my jaw came stumbling through the main entrance of his office block. I had been there since 1 O'clock and I actually wasn't expecting him for a few more hours but the sooner the better.
He was fumbling for something in his pocket as I approached. He noticed my winkel pickers and looked up. I took two steps back.
" Remember me ?" I said.
I shot him once through his head and walked back to my car.

I wish I could have celebrated the New Year and hold her one more time on the anniversary of her death, but the police are outside and the time has come for me to take my leave. And they will find her in the freezer where she has always lain.
Sighning off, gun in hand, for the last time,
Cold Killer.

The Truth. ( Or Age And Disappointment. )

My brain was saying George Clooney, the mirror said freak!
So I came back to the table, my confidence shattered, where the most gorgeous woman was still waiting. To my surprise.
Gorgeous, fine, but direct.
" So tell me the truth. What do you want?"
I've been searching for the truth since I was 14 and I have never known what I have wanted. " To tell you the truth I don't know what I want and the truth is mostly unbelievable. I want ultimate truth. But I'm just as guilty about lying to everyone else so I'm not surprised that the truth doesn't present it's self. But if you want to know the truth of the way I think then you have to follow the Strummer/Weller and the Vonnegut/Bukowski train of thought.

The poor girl was only 24 and she wanted so much to understand. She stood no chance. I was obviously out of my depth. And she was doing her best.

" But what do you want right now?" she asked.
" The truth is that I want you to go away."
" Sorry?"
" No, don't be. Just go away. The truth is that you're too intrusive".
She got up with an indignant look, pulled on her coat and left without another word.
And the truth is that is just what I wanted.
But she was gorgeous!
I don't remember how I got home.
But I did.

Sucker Punch. ( Shock Treatment. I'm Doin' Fine)

I'm a sucker for a sad face. A bad quallity.
Anyway. I walked into the bar and had a good conversation with the barmaid.
Then it began to get busy.
I noticed a woman of about 30 sitting on her own looking pensive.
I walked over to her.
She looked up. But looked over my shoulder.
I turned. There was a very big bloke before me.
I only saw him for a second. Then I was flat on the floor.
The bastard broke my jaw.

But I'm learning his routine and I know now where I can take him out.
I know he's working on new year's eve. I know what time he will leave.

And all the plans he would of had after 19:30 will fly out the window.

You can't just brake my jaw and expect to get away with it.

Will inform you of his demise.

Cold Killer. xxx

Simply Dead.

After six months paid sick leave, Rachid was getting into his country route. Most of his passangers on his number 13 bus were OAP's going to do their shopping. Rachid had become more calm and relaxed in his work. But anyway, that's for later.

Two days ago I picked Mrs. Simpleton up at 10:00. She seemed to look forward to our outing. For someone sitting in a wheelchair she was very animated, arms flailing and screaming about monkeys. We were just outside the nursing home when she said loudly, " Where are we going today? The zoo, to the pub or the whorehouse?"
" I thought we might go to the river today", I said.
" Are there any ducks there"?
" I believe so."
" How much do you believe."
I couldn't make out if the question came from her dementia.
" Enough to get by." I replied.

So I was pushing her in the direction of the river. We passed a few pubs but I carried on pushing her full of good intentions. I had one destination in mind. The river. Mind you, I knew a very good bar there. A quiet counry bar.

Only one more street to cross. A lane in fact. A quiet country lane. The bar was in view. There was no curb so I pushed Mrs. Simpleton out before me.

The driver of the number 13 bus was too relaxed in his new job and wasn't really paying attention. Mrs. Simpleton went flying. Two fingers of my right hand got broken.

This morning I read in the local paper that a man who was a bus driver, of Indian origin, was found strung up in his home. And so it goes.

I don't think the nursing home will be in touch again.