Lenny told me that all stories are drawn irresitably toward their ends.
It's a dirty lie. She lies a lot, you know. But here I am talking all the same.
I woke up partly on a park bench, my face unrecognisable to touch. I wondered if someone else had switched faces with me and whether I had gained on the deal. This is all true, I never tell lies. Unless, of course, that statement in itself is a lie. I couldn't really move, which scared me for a moment. It's awful to wake up in a strange public place and not be able to move. Oh god, I'm bored of this story already.
Soapy was a genuine bastard. I never understood him. Sometimes I hated him, but mostly I admired him like a god. I'll never understand him, why he did what he did. He didn't need to. He wasn't the slightest bit like me. He was born with everything he could ever need. His parents were not bad people. He could have bought the cars, but he prefered to steal them instead. I guess, in a way, he was freer than me. I only did things because I had to, because I have nothing to loose. He... he did anything that entered his mind and he would only do it if he had absolutely no reason to. Maybe he was stupid or something. There was definately something wrong with his mind. What he said to me once.
I don't know. That's all so long ago. I need a drink- no, I'm not going to the hospital, they know me there...
I couldn't remember anything when I woke up this afternoon. I keep thinking that one day I'll wake up and everything will be gone for good, and maybe I'll start over. No, not me. There's no ending for me, is there, Lenny?

S. Lenkletter