Johnny: March 15th. What the fuck? Tunny’s dream turned red, white, and blue, but I thought that good guys don’t wear red, white, and blue. Nobody seems to agree on anything these days. This city is misting over the skyscrapers. The cement feels so damp yet pretty at once. Is life imitating me or is rage imitating life? I feel like a civil war, like a knife in the heart. I got an axe to grind and it’s splitting my head open. No friends, no girls. I need both.