So the old man I was running from visits me last night and asks to talk. It was in a warehouse, old and unused, while I was trying to catch some shuteye.
And he walks up to me and asks me to listen to him for a while. Says he isn't going to hurt me cause he doesn't need to.
And I'm tired and a little drunk and I say yeah, fine, whatever.
And he just sits there and he tells me about people. He's got our number, alright -- he's got all the numbers we've written down filed away.
I thought he was just some old guy who eats memories, but he's not; he is the memories and the history and the writing.
So he tells me about all of the bad stuff people have done. And how it all keeps happening, over and over again. And then he tells me my whole life story.
And he points out all the bad shit I've done, and all the mistakes I've made. I don't have to remember them, now. And then he shows me how stupid it is to fight him. And I agree, because what else is there to do?
So then he makes me an offer.
This morning, when the sun came up, I got up and I didn't remember anything before the last few weeks. I have a clean slate, and an employer. And I'm going to kill some more people, except now I’m going to do it for the right reasons.
You can't fight history.