Confession

What am I doing here, you ask?
I've got no place left to go.

You want a confession?
Wrap your goulash around this.

I'm a murderer. I've pointed a revolver at another man's chin, cocked back the hammer, and pulled that heavy trigger until the hammer swung down and smashed into the blasting cap. I watched his face explode in slow motion, and I marveled at the lovely pattern his brains made on the powder blue wall behind him. He's still alive, but I'm a murderer all the same.

You want more?
Pull down your sequin sunglasses and take a gander at this.

I'm an adulterer. I've been in bed with hundreds of of different women in my life. I used her body, but she never saw mine. I degraded and humiliated her, and to top it all off these lovely ladies never knew my name or saw my face.

Are you sick of it yet?

I've cheated, lied, stolen, broken, beaten, coveted, slandered... I think you're starting to get the picture.

Why am I here on the bloody ground in front of this ancient torture device? I've got no other place left to go.