Too Much Of A Misfit For The Misfits

(Background: J. is being forced to vacate his house, because of a disagreement with his landlord about what sort of payment-in-kind constitutes rent....)

M.: So, what will happen to this house after you leave?

J.: The Misfits will take over. They'll be in here with their crank and meth. They run the houses in this neighborhood. They killed a woman a few houses over a couple of years ago. Her son didn't find her for several days.

M.: Misfits? Who are those?

J: Motorcycle club. From the Nevada hills. But they don't scare me. Nothing scares me. I used to fight on the streets of LA when I was young. Take the cops on with my martial arts, ten at a time. The cops there beat you up (or at least they used to, until I got older....now, they just ignore me). Cop once grabbed my triceps with a pair of pliers and squeezed as hard as he could. I looked at him with contempt and said "Does that make you feel better now?" I didn't scream, because you can remove your spirit from your body when you have to. Gave me a big hematoma, though. Then, later, I joined the military....

No, I'm not scared of Misfits. I'm not scared of death. I'm tired of this life, but there is no honor in suicide. I have my eagle feather and I smoke my sage, to keep me pure.