The same two Italians that put me in the pit led me outside. If I were to fight them it would do no good for they had brute strength and I had been without heroin for three days and was therefore rather week. But they weren't gonna beat me they were just going to shot me, and I had no problem with being shot. So they made me kneel in a gutter and they put the pistol to my head. Then the one taller guy says "any last words?" and I say, "Yeah, I fucked your mama rotten, you greasy Italian blot." With these words I grabbed the now red-faced Italians gun and shot his brain out his back and all over his friend. His friend reached for his gun and I blasted him seven times in the chest (I later read in the paper that one was perfectly centered through his nipple and went straight through his heart, as if a marksman of sorts shot him). I then ran to find the pirate.
I got halfway down 22nd street when I got winded and needed some H. I went up to this dilapidated house with a hole in the roof like a grenade was thrown in the house. I decided that this would make a fine home for the night. So I broke in the door with a swift kick and lay down in the first room to sleep.
It was midnight when barking dogs had awakened me. Angry voices stirred outside the broken door and the image of flames outside the cracked windows made shadows dance on the smoke stained walls. For once in my journey I was worried. I was worried the Bobbies had caught up to me and were going to avoid the courts and just kill me in a sort of mob attack. I ran upstairs to hide and heard the sounds of flames ripping up the walls and windows broke before me. I could only see black and purple as it was night but now the flames lit up the house and they revealed a whole culture of squatters most of them black and all of them well asleep. I was running around trying to wake them but I could only move so fast due to my feet being cut up by the broken glass. I woke them all up and some woke others. They identified this mob not as the Bobbies but as the Ku Klux Klan, a group of white supremacists who knew about this house and were planning on tearing it down.
I looked outside and counted forty of them. I had a magnum with 12 bullets and a rifle with 9 if someone will do the shooting I could do the rest. I asked the crowd of hobos one volunteered, a tall man with layers of clothes, no teeth and with scraggly long hair. "Got any experience?" I asked him. He smiled a toothless smile and said "I once shot a cracker in his back with a bb gun." This was not great but I had nobody else volunteering so he would need to do. The rest of the bums I gathered and I all ran out stabbing the white robbed men with various makeshift knives. I stabbed one in the eye of his hooded mask and he let out such a hideous scream it was as if a child was in a blender. His blood put a wonderful print on other clan members robes.
Within about ten minutes all the bullets have been spent and all the klan was dead. We had killed them all. We had one. The hobos let up a wild shriek like primal animals and we talked all night over a trash can fire on the second floor about what happened to each of us during the battle. I learned all their names and all their stories they proclaimed me as their leader, because if I haven't had woken them they would all be charred pieces of jet trash. So they asked me where we should go to get away from the klan. I decided a good place to hide would be the desert. First we would need certain things to get us there. I encouraged all my hobos to steal any and all firearms they could and all the ammo that they could. We determined we would meet the next day at the point we were then standing on and we would bring all our weapons.
The plan went on scedual and we all were now armed. We then hijacked a bus and traveled down towards New Orleans where we would recruit more members of our hobo army. The bus ride was great! I had never been in a group of such enthusiastic people. The whole ride down we sang songs as we shot at the cops who were then chasing us.