Well, I'm not dying, but the board really seems to be. I don't know, I think this effort might have been doomed from the start, a case of too little, too late.
Rorschach's Journal [Oct. 7th] - 327 she calls. It is my number. I take my Whopper and leave. The streets are my table. The sins of man are my condiments. Criminals are my napkin. She forgot pickles. Justice is dead.