Last updated:   Editor: None

NEW WRITER: Same face, new name baron

I believe everything happens for a reason. What is meant to be will always be, no matter how hard you fight against it. 3 years I’ve been fighting. I moved to California, as far away from my old life as I could get (whilst still staying in the US). As far away from the violence I saw back East. As far away from the people I was involved with. But I still had something pulling me back now and again. I’d draft a letter to send to someone I used to know, or buy a train ticket back East and then my better judgement would tear which ever of the two it was up and throw it away. I’d been living footloose and fancy free in California. Had my name changed with new documents, grew my moustache out and cut my hair real short, like an army cut, just so there was no chance anyone would recognise me. It took me about a year to feel comfortable enough to actually have a conversation will my local’s bartender. And 2 years after our first conversation we were now friends. I had a few others. Those that didn’t think anything of me apart from what they saw. It was all good and I wasn’t going to do anything to change that. But as I said if something meant to happen, it will.

It was about lunch time last Saturday, I was taking my dog for a walk around the block as I usually do. Doing this back when I lived in New York I would have had at least one gun on me, and probably a knife too. Back then I was part of an organised crime family and had worked my way up the ranks within the country wide newspaper called ‘The Buzz’ to become editor. I had a lot of friends, and even more enemies. But here I didn’t have a single worry. Everything was going smoothly until my dog decided to take a dump. Now that might sound stupid but hear me out. Now if he hadn't have done that, I wouldn’t have stopped to pick it up. If I hadn’t stopped I’d have had time to walk off and round the corner to my apartment complex. If I’d have done that I would have perfectly missed all what was about to happen. All what subsequently has brought me back to my old apartment in New York. Back to my old life. Back to my old Buzz writing desk. All for some dog shit.

It is good to be back though