If it’s after five o’clock, I’m drinking. So what? My work is done, this is my time. If it kills me, I don’t care. I ain’t drunk, I’m just drinking. If it makes me sick, and puts me in great pain, I don’t care. Where my cigarettes at? Four a’day, my doc says it’s ok. I’m in the game, Jack, I’ll play my cards, you just deal them and I’ll smile. Can you say that? If the deal gives you five Aces of Spades and the dealer says, time to go, the car’s outside, are you ready to go? I am. My work is done.
I kept my eyes on the prize, I won the life-lottery. Through a glass, darkly, but I could always see the goal. My nature was to tempt fate, drugs, firearms, motorcycles, deep-dark-depression, driving way on the edge of good judgment. I did what I did and what I needed to do, to do what needed to be done.
I’ve done good in the world, never asked for any credit. More good than harm, lots more. My conscience is clear. I enjoy giving strangers a better day than they might have had; I enjoy encouraging virtual strangers to achieve the things that they think are beyond them. I’ve had one family, two pregnancies, two live births, raised them both, on the scene, gave them values, two good men I gave to the world. My conscience is clear.
Done good with the cards that I was dealt, too. Had a lot of good times, stayed in the game. Gave as good as I got . . . not everybody can say that.
And now I’ll do whatever it is the fuck I feel like doing. Been almost dead, almost died so many times, in hospitals and cars, hanging off and scraping around some coastal mountain somewhere, I’m on Golden Time, Jack, nothing matters anymore.