June twenty-ninth. I gotta get in shape. Too much sitting has ruined my body. Too much abuse has gone on for too long. From now on there will be 50 pushups each morning, 50 pullups. There will be no more pills, no more bad food, no more destroyers of my body. From now on will be total organization. Every muscle must be tight.
Loneliness has followed me my whole life, everywhere. In bars, in cars, sidewalks, stores, everywhere. There's no escape. I'm God's lonely man.
- I don't want any more trouble like you had last year in the Fillmore district. You understand? That's my policy.
- Yeah, well, when an adult male is chasing a female with intent to commit rape, I shoot the bastard - that's my policy.
- Intent? How'd you establish that?
- When a naked man is chasing a woman through a dark alley with a butcher knife and a hard on, I figure he isn't out collecting for the Red Cross.
- I think he's got a point.
Each night when I return the cab to the garage, I have to clean the cum off the back seat. Some nights, I clean off the blood.
I know what you're thinking. "Did he fire six shots or only five?" Well to tell you the truth in all this excitement I kinda lost track myself. But being this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world and would blow your head clean off, you've gotta ask yourself one question: "Do I feel lucky?" Well, do ya, punk?
I gots to know.
Now I see this clearly. My whole life is pointed in one direction. There never has been a choice for me.