I’m a bar owner, not a writer. The most I do is write emails to suppliers who won’t deliver when they promise. I looked, and some of the people who have taken over this blog have talked about themselves, their worries and doubts, and whatever. Pam talked about how she hated certain things about her life. Me, I just don’t care.
Like I said, I’m a bar owner, not a writer. Yeah, me and Pam have a past, but that’s really none of your business, is it? Has it influenced our current relationship? Sure, but so does that twit of a husband of hers.
What I want to know is why the hell that Ellison detective guy seems to think I have anything to do with anything. Pam coming to my bar to visit a friend and have a drink, and that idiot Phineas Greene living only a few blocks away shouldn’t have anything to do with what he’s investigating. Ever hear of coincidence, Ellison?
Damn cops want to make whatever connection they can to get their investigation over and done with. Why don’t you look at the real criminals? Next you’re going to ask me how I know who the real criminals are, and where to find them. Nope, not gonna tell ya. That’s for you to figure out on your own.
I’m done with this. If I keep going, it’s going to give me a heart attack with how angry it’s making me. Next you’re going to say I could have said no. But from what I hear, everyone is being forced to do this. Who’s next? How the hell do I know, but I wish them well. If they’re not a writer they won’t know what the hell to say or do either.
Anyway.
Bye.