New life, new journal. I mean, why the hell not call this a "new life"? No one here knows me. They only know what I tell them, which so far hasn't been much. It's better that way.

I stopped by the local strip club last night. Had to get a drink of whiskey, to settle my nerves a bit. Of course, the bartender (a dude, sleazy lookin') practically goes "Hey baby, wanna work here?" and I told him about Rita, out in STL. I've gotten good at this lying thing over the years. I told him Rita owned the club, that I only worked behind the bar, not danced. Left out the fact that Rita was my girl for a while. Wasn't something he needed to know.

I might go back and take a job there, but certainly not dancing. I'm too old for it anyway. Slinging drinks to wasted pervs is more my thing, allows me to get a handle on who's who around town. Mainly, who I can work for...

That's it, gonna pay for this whiskey (that I may or may not have spilled on this page) and head out of this joint. Some bar called Lou's. What I wanna know is who Lou is and if I should be spending my hard-earned money in his fine establishment. Food for thought, I guess.