A Collection of Killings

May 2nd 1964

I got into a fist fight today. It wasn't pretty. I ended up breaking a guys nose. There was a lot of blood,  he wouldn't stop screaming and hollering profanity at me. I backed up the moment i heard the wet crack of my fist connecting with his nose; knowing the fight was all over now. But he charged toward me, with blood spurting out of his nose like a gushing waterfall. I had quickly put as much space as I could between myself and the guy. He was high as a kite and and wasn't gonna stop until he was knocked unconscious. That, and I didn't want to get a freaky disease by coming into contact with his blood. Which was, at this point, all over his face, clothing, hands, and hair.
Dumbass: come back here and fight like a man you little sh-

Me: hey man, look, this has already gone too far, your bleeding everywhere

Dumbass: you cheated me! Give me my money back and then we'll talk.

Me: I've already talked to you, and I'm done trying to talk to you, so why don't you stop why your ahead now and get some help.

Dumbass: not without my money! I ain't going anywhere.

Me: suit yourself

I quickly walked away at this point. He was stumbling and was apparently incapable of walking more than two steps. And only after 5 min of fighting. Pathetic.

Before I even left the premises I heard someone shout that they were gonna call the cops. You wanna talk about an emotional roller coaster in less than a second. A flush of panic mixed with adrenaline entered my blood stream. No drug can make you feel like that. It's exhilarating.

Basically the whole experience has taught me not to deal to a kid that is already stoned. Only sober people from now on. I've already promised myself I would never go back to one of those group homes ever again. Especially not over a stupid situation over wether or not I gave a kid the correct amount of rock, when he probably can't even tell you what the second letter of the alphabet is.