So The Harpy and I split, right? She decides she wants the kids, and I’m like, thank fucking god, you know? But instead of just calling me, she hires this lawyer. Mousy little dipshit whose sweaty palms made the ink run on all the papers he sent me.

I tell the judge, “I can’t read ‘em, it’s all smudged.” Condescending bitch accuses me of being illiterate. Says I’m “unfit to represent myself,” and forces me to hire a mousy little dipshit of my own. Across the courtroom, I can hear The Harpy just laughing and laughing.

The bill for the whole thing comes, and it’s a couple grand more than I’ve got. Of course. So I call Ortiz up, ask if he’s got any work. He gives me an easy job – just roughing up some junkie.

I get to the junkie’s shithole, right? And it looks like it’ll be cake. Bust a few ribs, grab the cash. Now, how somebody in that deep to Ortiz could afford a .57 Magnum, I’ve no idea. The junkie puts a hole in me. And as I’m bleeding, all I hear is The fucking Harpy laughing.

Now pour me another.