“This injection contains all of us who are alive. I cannot give you Volodya because he is dead. But you do not need me to do that because he is already in you because he gave you his blood when he knew he was dying. He knew he was dying and he chose that and I do not think you thanked him.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“I am not crying.”

“I know.”

“Into my fucking eyeball Doc I am ready!”

“In fact this injection goes in your gluteus muscle.”

“What right here in front of the anarchists?”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“Of fucking course it does, typical log-cabin motherfucker, all right you guys fuck off to work while I drop trou for the dead Russian asshole. Jeez Doc you just had to didn’t you. I mean where’s my fucking dignity in all OW OW OW.”

—

So what do I do now?

I have like a mood or a modus: I’m Jack. I’m the Price you pay.

That’s it.

(Wow. Little head rush there. Demon juice got some kick I guess.)

I mean Lucille doesn’t really have skills either he just hugs people and they die of his giant knifepuppy affection but somehow that does not bother him. Well I say somehow…it’s because I burned out his brain using drugs and electric shocks and turned him into a giant knifepuppy because I wanted to.

That’s my modus in action right there I guess and now here is Doc and she says I am the guy to make the appalling shit happen.

That’s my modus too I guess.

I mean it’s not what I want. I am just a guy trying to get along.

—

I sit by and my leg hurts and I wonder what I am going to do.

Stabbed in the fucking leg by a fucking kid.

Stabbed with a fucking oyster knife like a fucking joke criminal.

Stabbed by a child.

What am I?

I’m a guy without a log-cabin motherfucker to my name is what and I don’t know who to talk to about it. Like who to make representations but also like who to talk to.

I’m the first of the Seven Demons. I have all of them in my blood right now. I think you could cook an egg on my balls. Volodya would do it he would stake me out and cook an actual fucking egg and he would claim it wasn’t weird just some old Ukrainian survival thing.

When man is losing that much heat, is no alternative in cold night.

(Head rush.)

Fucking post-Soviet log-cabin motherfucker I think he just made that shit up. Fucking universal donor bullshit.

I leave the coffee and I go and stand behind the awful bar and stare into the stupid mirror between the Japanese whisky and the French vodka.

“My name is Jack Price and I am the Price you pay.”