I hate guns. I went to a party when I was sixteen and my friend's maw pulled a revolver on her ex-husband in the dining room. Me and my friends were sitting around the table drinking cheap beer, and right out of nowhere there was this crazy bitch on the loose. She yelled at him to get the hell out of her house, but his arms went up real slow and his fingers crossed behind his head. He leaned back in the chair like it was a joke. All of us kids got up and ran out of that house like we were stealing candy from the 7-11 and we got caught. I remember turning around to look at the last minute, before I made it outside, and what I noticed was the difference between the two of them. His face looked flat and peach, as if he didn't give a shit at all. She had a red face that shook and twisted--she was a human pit bull ready to attack. Thinking back, I realize crazy doesn't always look like you think it's going to. That man was nuts, and he took two bullets in the chest because of it. Anyway, that's why I hate guns.
However, I sense that you boys don't quite share the same sentiment, and given the late hour and the part of town we're in, I guess on this occasion I would be willing to, ah, part with the Rolex and my money. Just stay calm there, boys, while I reach for my wallet . . .
Opening: Aimee States.....Continuation: Anon.