The Butcher’s Choice

August 6, 2013

I’m sorry…

I’m sorry that it has taken so long for me to return to this computer screen. I’m sorry that the pain that runs down the left side of my body has been too excruciating for me to function. My days have been spent in bed, dealing with trying to block out this pain and to not let my nightmares take hold. But know I am in a safe place. A place where I can recuperate without fear. A place where I can give my body time to mend. A place where I can think about  about what form my vengeance will take place. I have friends here that look after me and will help me in what ever way I need. Emily still can’t look at me without wincing, but she will learn

The Butcher has left me disfigured.

As my burns heal, scar tissue is left. This will be my constant reminder of his power.

So where did I get to? I was telling you about how the man known as The Butcher slit open my chest like a steak, now I know how he came about his name. The monster then proceeded to light up a blow torch and wave it across my face, teasing me.

“I’ve been very patient in waiting in waiting for this. Now you’re here, I’m going to make sure I enjoy this.”

I still recollect his stale cigar breath.

“My dear boy. You have roamed this Earth for far too long, dishing out pain and misery. It is now time you have a taste of your own medicine”

Was he right, did I deserve this? Or am I just a pawn in a much bigger game.

With that, he plunged the blue flame down the left side of my face. My scream was like a trapped wild animal. I almost blacked-out with the pain of my skin shriveling.

“No no no you don’t. The Lord wants you to be awake for all of this”

I felt my left ear curling up and start to crisp under the flame. Now lost forever. The flame caught the corner of my eye. I can’t say were it melted or just burst.

“Boys!”

I vaguely remember shadows entering the room, God’s shadows. I was not there only in body from then on.

“Would you mind taking him outside for me, there’s a good bunch”

I was floating.  Blurred darkness then a burst of light. They were taking me outside into the blazing sun.

flame

The Butcher’s Knife

July 23, 2013

“You’ve got beautiful skin”

Everything about this man, made my skin crawl.

“I love how pale it is. Did you know in Elizabethan time pale skin was a sign of wealth and good health. But for you I suppose it has a different meaning, doesn’t it”

If I wasn’t tied to the chair I would have already ripped of his head.

“You’re not very talkative are you. I’m surprised. On your blog you never know when you should shut-up”

“Who are you?”

“Oh you know”

He was right, I did know, but I dare not say.

This was the first time in my whole life I have been on the other end of an “attack”. I just didn’t know why he was taking so long in finishing me off.

I can’t remember how the following conversation played out properly and to be honest as I write these words I’m finding it a struggle. I’m in a lot of pain right now, especially where my skin used to be, so please forgive me if I make mistakes.

“So… is what you wrote about my little James? did you really do all those horrible things to him?”

I just hung my head and wished I was somewhere else, anywhere else.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Well that’s a shame. You do realize I will have to hurt you as a form or repentance, it’s only fair.”

He stood up and walked over to the sink again. The sound of his shoes. He picked something up and slowly turned around to reveal he was holding a Stanley knife in his hand.

“Great for scoring pigs bellies these… much better than using a normal kitchen knife. But you know all about that don’t you, being a chef.”

This truly was the man who knew everything about me.

“You were so very mean to my little James. You know I found him on the streets, just like your friend Derek. He was only young when I picked him up, gave him a good home, education everything his heart desired. I brought him up as if he was one of my own. Then you… Well.”

He repulsed me. Everything about him. The way he spoke with a lisp, the way he held the knife with no importance, I especially hated the sound of his shoes on the hard concrete…clip…clip…clip. As the blade came closer to my chest I could see how rusty it was, this wasn’t going to cut this was going to rip. I clenched my jaw in anticipation.

“Samael, that is what you call yourself now, isn’t it? We just can’t have you roaming the streets, can we now. Just understand this is nothing personal”

In one swift move he slashed diagonally down my chest, left to right. I was right it did rip the skin. I did not scream, it stung like a bitch, but I did not scream. He place the tip of the rusty blade where my heart is. With his free hand he held the back of my neck and he pushed the blade in. Thankfully Stanley blades are only short but I tell you I could feel it scrape bone. I hate to say it but I struggled and cried.

“Shhhh Samael, shh. What are we going to do with you hmm?”

He pulled the blade out and pulled up a tea-chest to sit on. He sat there watching the red run down my chest. He touched the wound on my chest with two fingers then he put them in his mouth and sucked the red off. The bastard then took out a little white handkerchief from his inside jacket pocket and wiped his fingers clean.

“We’re just the same you know deary. But I choice a high power’

He pointed up with the same two fingers. I didn’t want to debate with this deserving. If I was to die here, let it be quick.

“If the bad times are coming… let them come”

“Oh no, my dear boy. Our Lord wants you to suffer first.”

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The Butcher’s Apron

July 22, 2013

Face beaten and burnt. The sun. Beaten hard…hard to open my right eye. Right eye, left is completely shut. The sun. Hair on the left side of my head… gone. Torched, the blow-torched I remember the pain from that. Limbs intact thankfully. Fingers broken, two on my left hand, index and middle finger. Right side is fine, not in pain like the left side.  Cuts…so many cuts, to my face and chest. Superficial – committed to intimidate, it worked, I felt intimidated. My clothing rubs against the burns which cover the whole of the left side of my body and most parts of my back. The sun. It will heal in time, I just hope it doesn’t turn cancerous. He left me in the sun. Naked, beaten and unconscious in direct sunlight. I was on my front, on my right side. My right side protected from the sun as my left burned. There is literally no skin on my left side. HE FUCKING LEFT ME IN THE SUN FOR DIE! 

Maybe he was literally trying to cook me? Cook me in the suns rays. I feel humiliated and humbled. Humbled as if my wings have just been clipped. I have never met anyone who was stronger than I am…than I was…Now I have.

What am I talking about? Where have I been over the last few weeks? Well my friends, I met a man in a blue, pinstriped suit. He was one of God’s own self-proclaimed angels and he took judgement on me. He never said it himself but others referred to him as “The Butcher”, now I know why.

It was the 7th July, Sunday I think. It was only about 1am so I still had a few hours to find shelter before daylight. I was on the South Bank, actually just by the Globe theatre. I leaned back on the railings and pondered my position in life as I looked out at the Thames.

“What fates impose, that men must needs abide;
It boots not to resist both wind and tide.” (Henry VI)

Was it fate that brought me to where I am? Is there such a thing as free-will? Obviously I take responsibility for my actions, but had I not already been pre-programmed to act in a particular way?

Emily sat on the other side of the railings with her feet dangling down toward the water, God knows what was going through her mind.

I just want to make it clear now that I don’t blame Deka for his actions. He is a victim of desperation and addiction. He is an innocent caught up in a moral war. But I couldn’t let him live not after his betrayal. Over to my left I could see him marching towards me with purpose, probably the most determined I had ever seen him. Emily knew at once something wasn’t right. She vanished from her position on the wall and appeared in front of the shadow that was Deka. I could vaguely make out her holding up her arms to stop him but he went through her like she was nothing but mist. Then again she tried and again he walked through her. This pissed me off.

“Hey what the fuck man. what the hell…”

I woke up naked and tide to a shitty old wooden chair. I was in some garage somewhere. There were tins of paint and an old sink with dirty rags and cans of WD40 lying around everywhere, a work shop? I could feel the rumble of overground trains only a few meters above my head. I was in some archway, but I couldn’t tell you where. I was left there for hours, it could even have been days for all I knew my body clock was so messed up with the head trauma. In time a door behind me clunked open, someone stepped inside and then the door slammed shut. I will never forget the sound of his hard shoes on the cold concrete as he slowly made his way round to me. He took all the time in the world. And there he was, in his pristine blue, pinstriped suit with a salmon pink shirt and matching tie. He wore the shiniest black shoes I have ever seen and a huge gold ring on his little finger, it looked more like an 18th century seal than a ring. He was old, say about late 70ish with white, wavy hair. Very well groomed. This monster cares about his appearance. He was so very soft in his mannerisms.

“You’re a hard man to get hold of, aren’t you deary”

I said nothing.

“I wouldn’t blame your little friend if I was you, he didn’t have an option”

I said nothing.

“You look like you need a little wash. Lets clean you up”

Again I said nothing.

He floated over to the sink and soaked an old rag in some scummy water. He came so closed to me I could smell his retched perfume. He started to dab my face and chest with the rag.

“If you weren’t such a cunt we could have been friends Sam”

I said nothing.


burns1

Tomorrow “The Butcher’s Knife”

Heat

July 5, 2013

The heat is finally here.

As the rest of London bath in the glorious sun, I find myself ever more hiding in the shadows just waiting for the fucking UV rays to subside.

But don’t think I’m complain, concerned yes, but not complaining. You see I’ve had to deal with this time of year since I was a child, so this really is nothing new to me. But the heat, I can never get used to that. I don’t know for sure but I wonder if my XP, for some reason makes me more vulnerable to the heat. At this time of year I come out in these horrible heat rashes. There’re very patchy, cover half my skin and itch like hell. Deka keeps making comments that I’ve got some flesh eating virus…if only he’d take a look at himself, the bloody junkie looks like death! But it’s all in good humour, I know that it comes from a good place. But he is kind of right, I must look a sight in my grey suit, trainers and bright red patches coming up from my neck and covering the side of my face…hmmm attractive.

The real joy tho is at night when I can roam free again. Every night I’ll find a local pond and swim in the ice cold water. Such relief! I can’t describe it properly, but I’ll give it a go – Imagine having an itch. An itch that covers most of your body. An unrelenting itch that only grows worse when you scratch. It’s always there, ever present. I would even describe it as being insidious. You try to sleep though the worst of it. But it won’t let you get comfortable. You toss and you turn, until finally you give up all hope of sleep. As the day goes on, you give in to the temptation and you scratch. Skin comes aware under your fingernails making the itch turn into a burn. You’re on fire. Then finally dusk arrives. With no soul around you can rip of your clothing and submerge yourself in the ice cold, natural water of a pond or the canal. It cools, heals and refreshes all at once. Sublime. The chaos is now over and only peace prevails.

The alternatively is to break into a deserving home and wash there, but first you have to find a deserving.

This is what I shall do next…

176

June 29, 2013

There are times in life when the heart rules the head. When we might just take actions that jar with what we know is to be true or right. We might even take these actions though we might not want to. But we do it because our heart demands it. That is what brought me to Embankment on Tuesday night.

I waited opposite the bus stop near my old place of work because I knew that at some point that night Hannah would have to come along to that stop and she would board the 176 to head home after her shift. If she still worked at the restaurant that is. I’ve been out the loop for a while now, maybe things have changed more than what I anticipated. I understand that this was probably the last place I should have been, I should just leave the past in just that, the past. But it had been over a month since I last saw her and although I knew I wouldn’t be able to approach her, or even speak to her, I just needed to see her. I stood in the shadows for almost 3 hours, not wanting to miss my opportunity. My patience paid off when I saw her. She walked along the road towards the stop like a blistering ray of hope, shining ever so bright in what was other wise a miserable evening. The whole place seemed washed in black and grey, except for the light of her red overcoat, the only colour to be seen. She seemed tired in the eyes but she was as beautiful as ever.

And there she stood with about seven others, head down and lost in her own thoughts. I would have given up everything, just to spend one minute in her mind. She looked so vulnerable like a shy animal. I stood on the other side of the road hiding in a shop doorway. Tiny little black spots started to appear on my grey suit. I looked up to see the heavens had in fact began to open. I saw Hannah struggling to open an umbrella. I just wish I could have walked right over there and offered some assistance, but that opportunity has long gone. I lost that right the very second I began this very blog. She now knows everything about me and I mean everything, including the darkness that surrounds my life.

To my left a yellow light appeared reading the number “176”, my time was almost up. I yearned to walk cross that fucking road and do nothing more than to just hold her as if nothing had ever happened. To hold her like a normal human being lost in the crazy throes of passion. Hannah lifted up her head to catch the same 176. Then her eyes did something rather unexpected, they fell on my direction as if she knew I was there all that time. For what seemed like an eternity we stared, motionless, into each others eyes. The 176 pulled in, breaking the uncomfortable connection. By the time she got on the bus and found a window seat, I was gone.

Hannah if you are reading this just know I have no intention on finding you again. I understand the life I have been granted is not compatible with “normality” and…well I also find my actions sometimes just as freighting as you must do. But please know my feelings for you are true and real, and that will never change. When you are in need I will know and I will be there.

So this is what I have become… a lone monster ruled by the heart.

Home (The Deserving)

June 19, 2013

Who are the Deserving?

The Deserving are those who, to put it simply, deserve my attention. They are deserving of my attention and that of my brothers. The Deserving are those who roam the Earth inflicting pain and misery on others, while rejoicing in their anonymity. They steal, rape and kill all in the name of self-interest. They abuse positions of power while others struggle to survive around them. They are the damned.

We are not the same. We sometimes have to commit crime to survive and to progress, always with the greater goal in mind. The Light is not what you think. What is it they say? The Devil is very good with disguise and deception. Now imagine if He was to pull off the greatest deception of them all? Well He has done.

There are no winners in war, only victims.

No, I’m not some holy man preacher on some self-proclaimed “higher” mission. I am but a monster inflicted with a curse. The question you have to ask yourself is do you side with the Light who stands idly by and lets innocent people die every second of everyday, sometimes in the most painful of ways imaginable, or do you support those who try to push things forward for the greater good. Always trying to release His tyrannical grip?

The Deserving don’t always understand what they are until it’s to late for them. Sometimes they don’t realize what they are until after they have thrown-up misery on an innocent, an innocent who is unfortunately caught in the cross fire. When I feed, I digest their energy…simple biological synergy. As the angels cry, we sing.

When I went through the trauma of birth I was cast with a skin disorder. It was just another futile effort to keep me off the streets, now I call the streets my home. You may have even walked past me as I slept in doorways or even when I’ve been curled up in a ball on the cold, harsh concrete.

That is the Deserving.

I fear it is now time to move on from this house. We have spent almost a week squatting in this place and I don’t want to push our luck. It’s been a fantastic to have an opportunity to collect my thoughts in a quite and comfortable manner, but I’m starting to worry people may become concerned about Peter’s whereabouts. His mobile currently has 31 missed calls. I’m afraid I won’t be able to let him live. He has seen too much. But his death won’t be in vain. He will be remembered for the sacrifice he made for the cause.

I’ve tried to use my time at Peter’s productively. I’ve searched on the internet for any information relating to “The Butcher”. Names, news articles, anything. I even search James Cartwright (The boy he sent for me) But I found nothing. Where do I go from here? I really don’t know. I’m sure he will make himself known to me soon. Maybe he will send another Deserving after me, oh I do hope so. If you are reading this…come test me.

Oddly enough Peter is the perfect match for me physically so I have taken one of his grey suits. a nice wool/silk blend. So in a few hours when I’ll be official back on the streets, I will at least be the best dressed homeless man that ever was.

Tonight I will be leaving this house, Deka and Emily will be following me. I will then strike a match and burn every trace that I was ever here…and I mean every trace, Peter included.

Am I real? I sure feel real.

fire isolated over black background

Home (Part 2)

June 17, 2013

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Peter’s got it easy. He has a large flat in West London and from what I can gather he works from home, in this beautifully decorated office. He has a flash car which is parked just outside in his very own parking bay. A huge flat screen television dominates the living space. Every room has only the very best and most expensive furniture. Art litters the walls. He even has one of those bidet things in the bathroom. He really does reside in the lap of luxury and I can tell you I’ve been making the most of it. Even if its just for a few more days, it’s heaven to be off the streets for a while.

So what brings me here?

Nothing in particular, Peter was just unlucky. Out of all the houses and flats in this part of town I just happened to roll into his one. I don’t know if he is a “deserving”, maybe he’s worked hard for this way of life, maybe it was handed to him on a plate, either way he’s not dead yet. I’ve been feeding him and giving him water. Through his tears he keeps pleading for me to go but I haven’t yet. He’s not the most gracious of hosts. I’m staying here for another few days at least, or until I can get my head round what to do next, where to go and how to find the self-proclaimed “butcher”? I have lots of questions but so far no answers. There must be a way of finding him or at least making some kind of contact.

The second night I stayed here, I couldn’t sleep. My mind kept wandering about Deka sleeping in some drunken state in a park somewhere. I consider him a friend, or maybe it’s more like a kid brother thing, anyway I got dressed and headed out to where I thought I might be able to find him. It took a while but I did find him. I found him in a shop doorway just by Embankment. Even when your homeless you still have you routines. He didn’t recognise me at first all clean-shaven but I bundled him into Peter’s convertible and brought him back to flat to get cleaned up and well…just to have some time out of the cold. Deka thought he had won the lottery. I think his mind is so messed up reality and fiction sometimes leak into each other. He was like some kid wondering around a toy shop!

“You secret millionaire or sommit?”

I had to make it very clear to him it was just for a few days and then we have to leave. I also had to warn him not to come into this office. I still have Peter shitting himself behind me on the leather sofa. Have I gone to far? I haven’t gone far enough. In this battle between the deserving and the innocents there will be a few casualties, but his death will be quick and painless.

So that is what I’ve been up to. Booze, food and day time t.v. Deka is in the living room watching some horror flick and making a dent in a £100 bottle of red wine. I’m about to knock up some meal in the kitchen for the two of us and then I will be joining him with some of my own red. I’ve cleaned myself up and brought my pal along for the ride. This is the chance I needed to recuperate and to come up with a plan of action.

Right, that’s me done for now. I will leave Emily watching over Peter. Oh…and if you’re thinking about coming to try to find me, don’t bother. Soon I will be gone and it will be like I never existed.

Home (Part 1)

June 14, 2013

Forgive me, only now have I been able to get to a computer to write about the events of the last week.

I’m feeling so happy and jubilant right now. The sun is bright outside and i couldn’t give a fuck!. Right this second I am sat in Peter’s office. He doesn’t mind. Good old Peter works from home so I’ve calculated I maybe have a week or two before anyone gets suspicious about Peters whereabouts. God damn it I’m going to make the most of it! I don’t believe I never thought about doing this earlier.

Last night, I had a hot bath for the first time in months. It was sublime. My skin itched with excitement as i stepped inside the tub. I must have been in there for about two hours. By the end, the water was a dirty brown colour with all my dirt and sweat. Fuck! It was amazing. I had a shave as well! I had a bloody shave! I can’t describe what I feels like not to have what felt like a shitty old carpet strapped to you face for weeks on end. I feel so refreshed sat here just in a towel.

I plan to do fuck all for a few days. Eat, drink and be merry. Watch films, read and cook. Of cause I can spend a bit of time cooking, fantastic. Peter won’t be joining me though, he’s been bad.

Do excuse me…I just need to go and check on him.

In Reflection

June 6, 2013

“If I speak of myself in different ways, that is because I look at myself in different ways.”

Michel de Montaigne

Since last year my life has taken on some very drastic changes. No longer do I have “my dream job in my dream location”. No longer do I have a permanent roof over my head and no longer do I have access to funds which usually allows me a certain kind of flexibility in life.

That being said, I am more fulfilled and focused on the task ahead of me.

I’m sure that my violent secret would have come out at some point, but I always presumed I would have been in a better position financially. A position where I would still be able to hide from the world and not have to worry about the little things, like food. I’m so very hungry right now and in desperate need of a shave.

Yes, I am starting to feel jealousy of those better off. It’s an emotion I’m not that kin to and I really don’t like feeling it. I’m feeling jealousy and frustration. I’m jealous of the others who don’t have this financial worry hanging over their heads. I’m jealous that they are able to live as they please and still be able to devote themselves to the cause. I’m frustrated that they know how to make the right decisions when it comes to keeping their “stories” secret and they don’t appear to have the need to confess. I am actually referring to my two brothers. Those two others who bear the same burden as I do. The three of us were born on the same date in three different location with-in the British isles. Each one of us cursed by God. For me, my XP. The other two? Well, it’s not my place to say. But somehow they manage to hold down there respectable positions of power and still move through our rites of passage, effortlessly.

Money should not rule our lives, it is of cause a man-made device to determine the value of “things”, objects, skills or time. But we are ruled by it, of cause we are. It is a way of keeping people in their place and stopping us from moving on in life. The battle between the innocence and the light has already be won. It is up to us to find the deserving and to help the innocent.

If this sounds negative, I don’t mean it to be. Life’s all about making decisions. Like now, I’ve made the decision to spend my last pound coin in some shoddy internet cafe in Soho, in-order to update this blog. I’ve chosen to use it to write my diary than to put it towards food.

Decisions.

Why have I chosen to blog rather than eat? Maybe it’s born from guilt, Maybe there is a good soul somewhere within this monster after all, just lying dormant, repressed. Maybe it’s some form of confession. A way of vomiting out my sins… I really don’t know the answer, I just know I have to keep it up to date or everything that this website has cost me would go to waste for nothing.

Just ignore me, I’m simply disillusioned at the moment. Without real nourishment it is hard to stay on top of my game. Not being able to afford the real basics is emasculating. Am I being all that I can be? No, I’m not at all. The impact of having no money I do find disabling. But I suppose the first step is to get angry, then change is inevitable. I realize I’m complaining, forgive me friend, I’m tired.

Apparently there has been some protests in London over the last few weeks, some of them involving violent scuffles. I believe this is what brought that gang in my last blog to the city. I’m actually rather grateful to hear this. I did wonder if a certain “Butcher” had sent them down the underpass as a way of flushing me out, but no. It was, it turns out, just an act of mindless violence.

But I haven’t forgotten about him, the one who brought me here, quite the opposite. I guess he is probably reading this entry right now and laughing at my miss fortune. He broke me in so many ways, This I will not let go. I need to learn his motives for setting that poor kid on to me. 

Laugh while you can because… I am going to find you.

Skinheads

June 4, 2013

MarbleArchUnderpass

“I’ve missed you”

“I know, I’m sorry I had to leave you behind. But you have to understand why”

“I do understand and I’m not afraid”

We were both stood at the top of Hampstead Heath, holding each other. Nothing more, just simply holding each other. I leaned in and kissed her. I could feel her chest rising and falling against mine as she breathed in and out.

I was with Hannah and I was finally home.

“FUCKING SCUM”

I woke up to what seemed like the sound of thunder rumbling closer. I looked up and saw it wasn’t a sign of God’s anger but a gang of about 7 or 8 thugs charging down the underpass, kicking the shit out of every sleeping pile of rag’s that they came across.

“GET A FUCKING JOB”

“YOU NEED A FUCKING BATH MATE. YOU SMELL LIKE SHIT”

“YOU CUNT”

Their accent gave them away as being from the North East of England, I would suggest Gateshead. I had no idea what had brought them to London, but it was bad. One of them stamped down hard on the head of some drunk homeless guy. I heard the crack of bone on concrete. I felt the rage pump through my veins, this was going to be fun.

Deka was near by and already pissed out of his head. I managed to grab hold of his collar and drag him towards the exit. I told him to get the fuck out of there. But I wasn’t going anywhere, not because I didn’t want to, but because it was still daylight outside and I didn’t have the time to cover up. The sun in London has been blistering over the last few days, literally and metaphorically. Five minutes out there and I would have been able to feel my skin cells turning cancerous.

I turned around to find a some ugly skinhead standing right in my face. He must have been in his forties and he was fat. He obviously didn’t realize he had picked out the wrong hobo to mess with. The next thing I knew I was on the floor with blood pouring from my nostrils. He had headed butted me and hell, it fucking hurt bad. I could taste that horrid metallic taste of blood in the back of my throat. He kicked me a few times in my mid-drift which made me cough up a mixture of blood and mucus, which then dribbled down my beard. I remember seeing that this guy was wearing Kappa trainers which made me laugh for some reason. It’s funny the little details you notice when your having the shit kicked out of you. I think my laughter irritated him more.

“What’s so fucking funny?”

His mates had already started to leave at the other end of the tunnel, leaving this poor bastard with me.

“You’re mine now”

“What?”

Through a stupid, blooded grin I spat them words out again “You’re mine now”

He kicked me hard in the face. Yeah, he wiped the smile of my face. But as he turned to run to the others. I grabbed the back of his leg and pulled him down. Before he know it, I had already sunk my teeth into his Achilles’ heel, severing the tendons leading to his foot. Like a trapped wild animal I was protecting myself and my kind. I was on his back in a flash, slamming his face into the cold concrete.

After my last “rite of passage” I don’t have the black-outs anymore. I can remember every detail of a feed. Not that this was a feed, this was just pure violence, but I hope you know what I mean. I suppose it’s a luxury of being a “fecit”. Blood dripped from my hands. I wiped it over my face and beard and curled up in a dark corner so the moment the gang members came back for their friend I should of been well hidden. I am strong, but I couldn’t take all of them on. But to my surprise they didn’t come back. Nor did the police show up or the ambulance service, but to be honest I didn’t expect them to. Who cares if a few homeless people get it bad.

From what I heard later, some of the street guys ransacked that skin head’s body and nicked his clothes and whatever else they could find on him. His body was then dumped in the Thames. I couldn’t care less to tell you the truth. I spent that evening swimming in one of the lakes up at Hampstead Heath. The moon and stars were out as I washed the blood from my hair and took a swim in the waters as I wondered about the possibilities of Hannah.

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