The Varnisher at 24 years of age.
He was The Varnisher. He was exhausted. He could barely sit up. On top of that, he was immensely stoned. You would be too, if you sniffed as much varnish as he did. Technically, he was not a crime fighter, unless you consider exposed wood a crime. He was better defined as one who corrected in order to beautify, than he was a vigilante. His heart was in the right place.
At noon, every weekday for the last five years, Roland found himself here, at the Pizza Hut® in Mokena, Illinois. They were the proud host of an all-you-can-eat pizza lunch buffet from eleven AM to two PM. It was a match made in heaven, Roland loved pizza.
Let me tell you what’s what. None of this is easy; it just looks that way. It’s all about maintaining perfect duality. One persona must be saintly, and the other, demonic with hard limits. No killing, duh. No waterboarding. No wedgies. It’s what separates the true vigilante from the psychopath. Don’t become the psychopath; I will take you down swiftly and efficiently. It is difficult distinguishing the difference between one gray area placed on top of another gray area, but you have to. Bottom line: zero casualties equals winning. If you step back and look at it, how much different is it than being a responsible and reliable accountant?
St. Louis sucked. Everything about it. The people. The deteriorating infrastructure. The local television news crew. The constant stench of beer and urine. The radio stations. The transportation system. The stickiness. To make things worse, this was the third day of unrelenting rain. It was miserable.
The sound of a switchblade and a motorbike.
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