Chapter One

It’s an odd feeling  standing in my living room, clean shaven, brushed teeth, showered and dressed in my finest rags, clean down to my underpants and socks,  a gun pointed at my head, a bullet in the chamber, a finger on the trigger.

My finger.

I do not want to die. Understand that, please. Yet I see no other course of action. The police are here for me. They are bellowing my name through the door. Next they will have it off its’ hinges, and will swarm in knocking me to the floor and arresting me.

Except they won’t.

For I will have pulled the trigger long before the door hits the floor. The thought of what this is doing to my family, and the stigma that will forever remain long after I have pulled the trigger is painful beyond belief. But if I am unable to prove my innocence then there is nothing that I can do about that. Pulling the trigger or not pulling the trigger will not alter their pain one jot. But pulling the trigger will end my pain. I am sorry, I truly am. Hindsight is  shit. To know after the fact is next to useless. But there you have it. The curse of all humanity. If I knew then what I know now I never would have driven that taxi on that night in that part of town. But I did, and all my subsequent choices were wrong leading to where you find me now. Bang bang, dead dead, good bye.