Sunday, July 08, 2007
Strari was holding a gun to my face, sticking me up for money for drugs. (Junk I think it was, unfortunately.) "I mean it" he said. "I'll kill you if I have to." "Oh now Richard", I said. "We both know you don't want to kill anybody." I gave him twenty bucks anyway, though I probably shouldn't have.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
The worst kind of dreams.
Will you be home between Aug. 6 and 16?
later,
jim p
I will be around. We can listen to the Fugs or (if Lycette drops by) if you really want we can watch TV.
Post a Comment