Had two anniversaries today, sent a couple hours apart.
Happy 10th Anniversary, <NAME>. 10 years spent in this rotten city. The rain comes down in greasy streaks, pooling oil in the streets where blood flows like cheap champagne. The just and the unjust alike drown in the fetid, steaming gutters. There is no place for innocence in a town like this. Everything is gilded and neon but when you scratch the surface it’s all rotten underneath. I keep hoping the rains won’t stop. That they’ll wipe this place clean and let us start all over again, but a little dirty water won’t wash away these stains. Won’t clean the blood off my hands. Everything is all corruption and lies and decay. Hard times. Seedy people. Sometimes a man has to stand up. Sometimes he has to say “No more.” Sometimes that means dying for a cause. Sometimes it means killing for one. I guess that’s why they call this place Sin City. No one walks these streets untouched.
Happy 10th Anniversary, <NAME>. 10 years of booze and bullets and anti-psychotics. They keep telling me to slow down or I’m gonna wind up off the rails. Become the killer they always warned me I was. There ain’t no place in the world for fellas like us. Not no more. These hands were made to hurt things. They don’t do soft and gentle. But there are people out there that need protecting. People who can’t stand up to the politicians and the media and the professional cynics drowning us all in waves of their misery. Maybe that’s what I gotta do. Maybe I’m the instrument of vengeance in a world that don’t care about them no more. It’s about sending a message. I don’t care what happens to me anymore. I gotta be there for them, to do all they things they can’t do for themselves. This is where the line gets drawn. This is the hard goodbye.