In the station I explained a countless number of times what I had done to the landlord. Some of the people I told the story to laughed some got pissed off. So I walked out and nobody tried to stop me.
On the way out I bumped my head on the doorframe. These normal doors were not built for the comfort of a man with the length of 8 feet as myself. Out of the bump grew a French piece of bread, which I ate but didn't enjoy.
Its taste was bitter like raw fog on the surface of the moon and it bore the texture of brick. In swallowing this I got several small slits in my throat. I now cannot drink water without it coming out through the holes in my throat.
After being out of the jail for a couple of weeks I decided I should get out of town for the Bobbies were probably searching for me. I decided I would move into the wooded lands on the outskirts of northern New York that was Canada. And I didn't much fear the Mounties. A bunch of flits on horses in their ranger outfits, hilarious!!! So I walked in the direction of the Canada lands.
First however I would need to get a few supplies before taking this strenuous journey. I would of course need food, warm clothing, and purification tablets for river water, a tent, and a shovel to bury my excrement in case they had a tracker looking for me. So I gathered all I had and stole the rest from k mart. I figured k mart sucks anyway so why not steal from them. Martha Stewart doesn't need any more money.
Well the first day I was at k mart I was stuffin my pants full of warm clothing in the dressing room. And this chick, who was clearly on drugs walks in with this uniform showing she worked there. She had a walkie-talkie on her belt and was about to shake me down for my needles. I guess she saw em from the two-sided mirror in the dressing room. Well anyway she was after my drugs and she came at me with this big stick like they used in mobs for beating people, when she started going into convulsions and fell into my arms.
This was quite a romantic situation. I had a half-dead junkie spraying foam from her mouth collapse into my arms. She was trying to reach for the needle on my inner-right thigh but she kept suffering violent spasms and she couldn't grab it. She suddenly stopped breathing. If someone were to open the door now they would think that I killed her. If I was going to be accused of murder again id for sure get the chair. So I took out the needle and found a vein in her back where I could have a direct connection. I then shoved the needle down into her thin blue vein and she instantly snapped back with the push of the stopper. It seemed like every mL of that junk was giving her life. As soon as she was alive again I made it clear that we had to leave the store. Everyone outside thought it was strange that some straggly man in dirt army fatigue was carrying out a clerk of the store.
When she finally came down she told me her name it was "Lavern" she told me about her life on junk and how if she went a period of time without it she would die. She needed it to live, as I only needed it for recreational purposes. Lavern was a good girl I had her keep me company on my trip to Canada. But the only thing I actually had her there for was extra rations. If I were to run out of food I was planning on eating her. So we took off set towards north. I had Lavern on my arm and I felt loved at least for the first time since my accident with the landlord. When she was on my arm I decided