A day in the life
What lead to this?
You know, suddenly I have this urge to write. to put it all
out there. So here we go.
15 months ago a friend died. I wasn't here, I was 1800
miles away. My other friend killed him. Not by agression,
but neglegence. Mother fucker. I moved because I was
divorcing my wife. I loved her, but she never loved me.
That's all there is to that story. I don't even think of
My depression and his sadness caused an irreperable tear in
our friendship. It was meant to be I think. Anyway, our
friends death and its associated fallout has severed ties
between everyone who knew him. I think two of the guys are
still friends, but that wont last because I believe they
are each out to stab the other in the back. I'm Bitter?
Maybe. Sick, but the dead friends mom actually tried to
pick up on his room-mate. I'm not making this shit up.
My dog was killed. That dog was everything to me. He was
the reason I came home, the reason I kept an address, the
reason I had a job, and the reason I'm not some piece of
biker trash. He woke me up to play ball the day he died and
I told him to go find something else to do. He did. He
found the freeway. Can you believe that shit? I couldn't.
He went very fast. In fact when I found him there was no
blood at all. He looked peaceful, really, just like he was
sleeping. I knew he wasn't because he was very stiff and
his toungue was dry. My dog with a dry toungue? I don't
think so. I am greatful that he went fast because I
couldn't handle him suffering.
The cops didn't appreciate me walking down the freeway with
my dead dog, so more balling in front of the cops. They
gave me a ride back to my car.
That night, I buried him in the desert with his toys and
his glow ball. He used to love me to massage his paws, I
did get to do that for a minute before I covered him up.
That was in May of last year, I still think of that dog
every single day. It was, without a doubt, the worst day of
my entire life. I'm not a cristian, but I sure hope he went
to doggie heaven.
Someone stole my sportster out of the shed. I had thousands
invested in that bike. No insurance, and No Luck. I
actually balled to the cops when I made my report. Maybe if
I had bought it the way it was, it would be different, but
that was my craftsmanship, my money ... who cares though.
Its gonna get parted out and sold for scrap to some HA
clown who's gonna put his money and blood into it.
Hopefully he'll crash and die. Eat shit you club fags.
When will I be responsible enough not to run off or kill
the things I love? I'm pretty sure I'm cursed, but its a
damn good thing I have a bad memory because if I thought of
the pain and loss I've experienced in the last 24 months,
maybe I'd eat a bullet.