Calibre

24

This could be our last song together, oh yeah, I’m like history, I’ve enjoyed this diary but this is not only the final entry, it’s THE END OF THE AFFAIR. If you’ve gathered how much I liked The Killer Inside Me and, if you’ve been paying attention, Ford was fucked, and his enemies closing in. But did he have an ace up his sleeve.

READ THE GODDAM-BOOK.

I’m looking over my shoulder as I write as time is like, really on the out. The cop, Brant? The one I figured was a lot smarter than he played it, well he paid me a little visit, yeah, on his own docket so to speak, and guess what? He’s going to kill me! How fucking ironic is that? And yes, I believe him. You kind of had to be there. He’s a psycho, an out-and-out lunatic, and what’s worse, I think he’s going to enjoy the act. He

intends playing first, get me spooked, get me frantic, and he’s succeded. As the Americans say, WHO AM I GOING TO CALL?

I can’t believe it’s all gone so pear-shaped, I was on a roll, just taking it nice and easy and then the woman blew it to hell. Like the aforementioned book. So what am I going to do? I’m getting rid of this bloody diary is what, but I couldn’t resist a farewell entry. And like all the do-gooders ask, did I make a difference? Is this little corner of London more civilized, more considerate? I’m afraid not. Too little time, too many assholes. That’s all.