Conspiracy theory times, friends. I don’t think Cunty McLawyer is who she claims to be. I think Dave duped some stupid whore into letting him pretend to be her. She never showed for hearings. We never spoke. I think that it’s Dave behind her bar number and email.
It’s a wild one, but I put nothing past these people. Motherfuckers are deleting shit off my Scribd, for God’s sake. Public records are public records. Suck it up. Maybe next time don’t rape someone? Fuckers.
I think I found a roommate. And it’s not a homeless random this time. My boy Scotty. He just got divorced, and his dad died, and he’s a wreck. We’ve known each other 7 years. He did time on Rikers for shooting a guy in the kneecap three times under the George Washington Bridge. He’s been good to me. He took me to the dentist once. I wrote up all the paperwork for his trucking company. I will never forget him saying, “You wanna make some money on the side? … I mean it’s legal.” Fucking Scotty the Hottie.
I spent Sunday with Clint. He hasn’t dealt with his trauma. His girlfriend bled out in his arms at a routine chemo session for skin cancer, the same type Stevie has. Clint is diminishing his own trauma from that. That’s what makes him an asshole. But he smoked a great pork butt, and we didn’t yell at each other this time.
Trauma. It’s my calling. I applied to a PsyD program. I’ll teach. I don’t think I have the demeanor for clinical, but I can sure as hell teach it. Trauma is everywhere, and everyone has it. No one knows what to do with it. Even that lowlife Dave. I know that. That’s the next step in the journey.
But tomorrow we heckle Aaron Ford. Motherfucker pulled ahead in the polls. Early voting starts October 16th, and I have never been more personally affected by an election than the Governor and Attorney General races in the great state of Nevada.
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