Now I Know What It Is Like

Killing Makes Me Feel Good.

The Faster It Ran Away From Me. And I Found Myself Reasoning That Perhaps One More Beer Would Unlock The Doors Of Perception.

A Reasonable Being Might Think That He And I Could Find Some Common Ground; Have A Cup Of Coffee And Compare Our Passengers, Exchange Trade Talk And Chitchat About Dismemberment Techniques. But No: Doakes Wanted Me Dead. And I Found It Difficult To Share His Point Of View.

I Mean, Really: What Kind Of Person Could Possibly Dislike Me?

Really Now: If You Can't Get Me My Newspaper On Time, How Can You Expect Me To Refrain From Killing People?