Name's Petey Lane, and This is my story (in progress, eventual romance, rated for strong language)
Stupid council decided that I’m fucked up in the head so sent me to a therapist, who is making me write this stupid thing. I mean, you punch one douche bag in the face and they decide you’re psycho? It’s stupid. I mean he completely fucking deserved it. He shouldn’t have picked on the poor kid. I s’pose I best explain who I am, huh? Name’s Pete Lane, I’m 17, work as an artist, and am completely stoned whilst writing this. Not really as surprising as you think to be honest, I spend most of my time like this. It’s just easier I guess. Anyway, I suppose I had better get back to telling you what happened, huh?
Well it was a normal day in the district, and fucking sunny for a change. I was sitting outside my studio, smoking a joint with my mask off, when I saw these huge guys towering over this skinny little kid. He already had a gash on his head, and was huddled on the floor while this huge guy kicked him. Now I'm not one for equal rights or whatever, id much rather save my own ass than get involved in something that doesn’t involve me, but for some fucking reason I decided that it was the best idea in the world to go save this kid. So, I did. I went over, punched the douche-bag’s lights out, and grabbed the scrawny kid, who was reduced to a whimpering mess. It was kinda cute, in a weird way. Woah there Petey, you don’t wanna go down that route again. You’ve been hurt way too many times to bother with that again. No love, never again, just as we promised. He did have stunning eyes though, even if they were hidden behind his copper coloured mask. No, stop it.
Anyway, enough arguing with myself, I gotta go paint. It’s about the only thing that can calm me down, well that and music anyway.
I’ll probably never write in this crappy thing again, but whatever.