I'm room 36; 3rd door on the left on the 3rd floor. I park on the side of a nearly deserted street when I get there, and by now my cigarette is nearl... burning my lips. I've been mulling over when my friend(if you can call him that) Johnny Figgs said earlier that day: "Dead guys don't talk... and they sure don't shoot... Watch your back Morty"He told me this because I've been working on a case that involves some fucknuts hiring me to spy on his wife. As luck would have it she's fucking some. He started pinching my nipple and running his hands all over my lady lumps, as I slowly released my grip and let him pull off my entire bra. He was rubbing intently now and I was squirming, my love hole secreting its musky scent into my panties.This continued for about for a quite a few minutes and I adored every second of it. As he was rubbing, he started trying to go to the lower sections of my body, running his hand on my long slender legs and lightly passed my panties.I took his hands and. I was utterly astonished at the coincidence a very familiar chill soonstarting to run up and down my spine as she talked, and anxious to leaveas quickly as possible I thanked her for her time determined to find outwhat I could about the history of the arcade on the Internet.Next day disappointed at not finding anything I called the number on herbusiness card to see if she could help me any further. An elderly man'svoice answered and when I asked to speak to one of their lady assistantscalled. They’re all the same to me. Though they all claim to be different from one another, they use the same tools to get what they want. Manipulation. Deception. Blackmail. Extortion. Intimidation. False accusations. Brute force. Treachery. And the list goes on. Here I am, twenty three years old. Over six feet tall, handsome and healthy. College-educated. Smart. Seemingly friendly. Yet all I see is darkness. I can’t stand this world. I’ve gone out to try to make things better. I distributed flyers.