Slightly drunk and it's the fucking middle of the day. The ordinary country crap has been replaced by something a bit more original, but it's still country music, only older. And this is supposed to an Irish pub. No Irish cider and a damn redneck singing about the blood on his hands. You'd think I'd be able to relate, but an inbred accidental killer is about as far away from who I am as you could get. At least when it comes to people having blood on their hands.

So why the hell am I sitting here at an Irish pub with no Irish cider and a confederate rebel moron yodeling away through the loudspeakers? Quite simple actually. When too many of one bar's clientele end up in plastic bags scattered all over town it tends to draw attention. And attention, as we all know, is bad. So I had to move on.

And here I am. Slightly drunk in an empty bar on the search for new playthings. If only they didn't break so easily. People say the human body is a tough one. What the fuck do they know? My playthings only last a day or two. It's as if once the mind gives up, so does the flesh. They come apart and they make a mess and I have to clean the tub and the bathroom floor once again. In bags they go and we go for one last drive. Again. Find. Play. Dispose. Repeat.

So why continue? I don't know. There's the same kind of hope I guess there is with all types of work and serious hobbies. Maybe the next will feel different. Like the first ones. They were all different. Now they're all the same. Everyone is unique, my ass. But it is still easier hoping for change than actively doing something about it. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about.

More customers arrive, finally. I'm going non-alcoholic now for obvious reasons. Focus. Plus a bottle of ginger ale isn't all that bad. Love the stuff. The bartender thought I asked for a gin and tonic. Asked me if I wanted a single or a double. I wanted the whole bottle and it seems this will be staff joke for the evening. Good for them, but bad for me. Unnecessary attention, it's the last thing I need. I should probably call it off for tonight.

But the idea of another lonely quiet night isn't really pleasing. At all. I have been lonely the last week, no need denying that. Quiet, quiet, quiet! Quiet outside, but screaming inside. Screaming to play. Making my nose bleed from all the screaming inside. It hurts and it only wants to play and she looks nice. He looks nice too. Maybe the screaming and nosebleed will go away longer if there is two. Maybe it will be different.

The music stops. It's a sign, I fucking know it. A sign that things will be different this time.

Hello, my name is...