NOVEMBER 2, 1934
WITH MY MORNING CUP of Crow in hand, I’m going to take a minute to write about yesterday. I’m going to try to stick with writing every morning from now on. I’ve got to inject some structure into my life, or I think I might go mad. As long as I’m distracted, as long as I’ve got something to do, I can avoid thinking about the hole in my chest and the shattered discs in my neck and the briar scratches festering instead of scabbing and...
Dammit, I’ve got myself thinking about it now. Let’s move on.
With so many questions mounting up and not much in the way of leads, I figured I should head over to Lazar’s pawnshop. Keene Avenue wasn’t exactly in the nicest part of the Welcome Mat, but I sensed it wasn’t the most degenerate place I’d ever set foot in. On the screen of the t
