The following page is written on a crumpled up piece of paper shoved in a worn journal notebook. The notebook is littered with intricate tattoo designs and some just pretty fucked up looking abstract drawings.

Dear Wrinkled Page,

You are hard to write on. Why are you torturing me by being wrinkled? My drawing paper doesn't do this to me.

First week in Hathian and I find a tattoo shop! I loved working in them in the past. Drawing just isn't fun without a needle. I'm so excited! Some people scream too much when they get stuck with a needle. I wish they would just shut the fuck up. So far no clients though. I make pretty drawings too and my boss seems cool so far. They will come I know. Boss says so too.

My brain keeps talking to me when I try to sleep. Or maybe it's the screaming from the alleys. I should look into an apartment once I get work but somebody is growing pot in the room I've been sleeping in. That makes my brain stop talking. It should know when to be quiet more. It's rude.

Well paper you have been fun to write on but yelling from somewhere is telling me to stop writing on you. I'm going to ball you back up and put you back in your home.

The entry ends with a long string of: "Shit" , "Die , "Death", "Funny", "Picture" written repeatedly for three lines on the bottom of the page. All in random sequences.