Paul was looting the grave of his father, AvardT. He didn't have many possessions, most of his wealth had been plunged into a golf course which cost him like $10,000,000, and whatever else he had, including the shirt off his back Paul noted looking at the bullet-riddled bare chest below him, was taken by his Don as payment for protection. Still, he didn't like Dad much; he'd spent more time at his dumb 9-holer than he did at home, so he figured anything he could find should be his as compensation.

Paul nudged the corpse with his foot causing a grotesque fat ripple. "Look at the fucking state of you," he muttered to himself, continuing to prod away with his boot. After one slightly more vigorous kick, he noticed something peeking out of Avard's back pocket. Paul frowned and reached down, heaving Avard's mammoth frame over. His fingers grasped around a small notebook and he pulled it clear with a grunt, letting pops fall back down to earth forgotten. He turned the book over in his hand.

"The Purge Diaries," Paul read aloud, recognising the rough scrawl that had been his father's writing. "Huh," he said, flicking it open to a random page. 

Day 28

32 days before expected purge

It has been a slow day in the Eve Crew. Taradiddle_ thinks that Vezux is the better story teller, whilst Aomame argues that it is clearly Savannah; this led to another argument over this topic, just like yesterday. RHM Marlowe continues to mope about the loss of Garou and take it out on LHM Marlowe, who has been forced to pick up the slack.

Meanwhile, I have spent my day trying to get people interested in Mafia Golf - I think it could be a big earner for the family. Eve is totally against it and feels that it will compromise the integrity of her beloved game. I'm going to ignore her though and do it anyway. I figure I have a little while before the purge hits around day 60, so I may as well see if I can do something to combat the boredom before then.

The purge...I wonder how many people I don't know will die alongside me. Probably a few. Maybe if I'm lucky Charlie__Pavanno will be one of them and he finally gets his comeuppance for always mugging me. Probably not though, I'm not that lucky. 

Now that I'm sat in the Downtown airport for another 3 hours (thanks, Charlie), I find my thoughts wandering. This might seem quite contrived if my journal is ever found by him and he flicks randomly to this page, but if my son was ever to read this, and I don't think that sack of shit will ever bother learning to read, but if he does I would tell him not to follow in my footsteps. I would say devote your 60ish days to doing something you love. Find a good woman, or at least an ugly one who will put up with your pig nose, and start a family. Don't bother with anything else, it'll be a waste of your time. 

Paul snorted. Silly old AvardT, thinking Paul would never learn to read. He struggled with long words sometimes and those squiggly commas thingies were a nuisance, but he could read. Sorta. What did he mean about doing something he loved? Did he know about Paul's penchant for purse picking? He turned that over in his mind and flicked to another page.

Day 51

9 days before expected purge

I had eggs for breakfast but I really wanted cake.

There wasn't any left though, McSteamy had eaten it all. He claimed it would help in his final round.

I was sad about that.

Ok, so they weren't all gold, Paul thought to himself, but maybe there was something to this. He spent a few more minutes flicking through the entries, until eventually he found the last one and drew a line under it. He hadn't intended to come away from here with anything except maybe a couple of bucks and fat pa's watch if he hadn't already pawned it, yet now he felt like he had finally learned something from his old man. The purge was inevitable. Avard's card had been marked from the beginning and, Paul suspected, so was his own. He should spend his days doing the things he wanted to do, all 59 more that he probably had left, before the great and good squashed him beneath their boots. He was Japanese Knotweed, an invasive species, and they were the pesticide and digging equipment, poisoning and excavating more than 6m to rip him out root and stem. Becoming a hitman was closed to him. Advancement would be curtailed. His lot would be constricted similar to the size of the box Avard now called home.

Paul put the diary in his pocket. He resolved that he would continue The Purge Diary his father had begun and record his many tremendous exploits...for about 60 days, until he was dead. Maybe his own family would find it one day and learn from him, until they too chowed down on a bullet butty. 

Taradiddle_ had already visited AvardT's grave twice before he turned up to see some kid kicking late AvardT's dead feet..

Hey! Stop it! I assume your father has taught you to not speak ill of the dead, boy..! And right now, you're taking it a level higher, even..

Taradiddle_'s voice lowered
Or lower.. Is it lower? Or higher..? He would have to consult Marlowe about this issue. It had always been confusing.. In AvardT's definitions, lower always seemed to be better, which explained why Taradiddle_ usually hit course records.
Shaking his head to get aware of the situation once more, he re-joined the dialogue in which the other party had not yet taken part.
It's one of the first lessons of respect, kid..

The young lad didn't really seem to hear Taradiddle_, and started going through AvardT's posessions, bluntly moving the vast body of Tara's deceased friend, until he suddenly seemed to find something..
Taradiddle_ stood and watched as the lad opened a little notebook and started reading out loud, sometimes slowly, more often as slow as molasses in January.. Luckily, he spoke out loud, and it didn't take long for Taradiddle_ to understand who this kid was. He never knew AvardT had ever been fertile, nor had he ever heard of @PickpocketPaul, although he had seen the lad around Don Eve's Eve's Crew Headquarters in recent times..

He overheard how AvardT apparently and squeezed in a smile towards Mr. Marquez, standing next to Tara, who was looking excited as he was secretly taking notes of what he heard, as if he was inspired to write a book about a similar situation.

After the kid closed the booklet, Taradiddle_ stepped up to him, laying his hand on his shoulder.

I am very sorry for the loss of your beloved daddy, kid..
Ignoring the awkward smile, Taradiddle_ continued
You know.. or maybe you don't.. But I have two kids. If they ever are fighting, I always tell them that they can only use arguments towards of what they have done to eachother in this lifetime. I am very sad the people that ended your father's life apparently thought, but also acted differently.
As the awkward smile Pickpocket-Paul was wearing had not changed, Taradiddle_ summarized
Well.. I can't really express my feelings well, I am sorry, lad..

He turned around and decided to retreat to Don Eve's Eve's Crew Headquartes, hoping to find Aomame, so he hopefully could share some good thoughts about how to honour their late wonderful crewmate. Flagging down a taxi, Taradiddle_ reached in his trousers as he gave the driver directions

Where the bloody fuck is my wallet and the 11 dollars that were in it?!

Paul leaned against a stained brick wall, immediately regretting it. Realising his jacket was now indelibly stained, he sighed and reached for the Purge Diary to make his first entry.

Day 1

60 days before expected purge

It has been harder than I thought to get ahead in this business. I assumed that with a nickname like Pickpocket, I'd be able to just lift wallets from everyone without drawing breath, like I do to civilians and old ladies. It turns out though, these mobsters are a little more careful with their valuables than I thought. So despite my obvious talents for these sorts of endeavours, I'm probably not old enough to actually pick anyone's pocket just yet and I think I'll wait awhile before trying that again. Disappointing start.

To pass the time, I have heard talk of a family reunion taking place and my source said that some of Dad's old pals are going to be there. Maybe if I run into them "accidentally", they will show me the ropes a little bit and open up avenues for further pickpocketing adventures. That would be nice.

Speaking of pickpocketing adverntures and Dad's friends, one of them came to pay his respects to Pop and even went as far as to put his greasy hand on my shoulder. I looked at him and he looked at me. I couldn't tell if he trying to groom me or take me under his wing, so I thought steal first, asking questions later. If he was trying to be nice, I hope he doesn't miss his wallet too much, but people need to learn that Pickpocket Paul is the real deal, yo, and shouldn't be fucked with for at least another 60 days.

Anyway, I'll see how things go from here. I'm going to head to the family reunion and then maybe have a nap on a park bench somewhere; I hear Seattle has nice benches. Hopefully I'll wake up and day 2 will go a little better.

Paul put the diary back in his jacket. A quick glance at his watch told him that the reunion would be in full swing by now and with Taradiddle_'s $11 in hand, he could at least afford a few drinks if nothing else.  

Taradiddle_ walked into the classically designed HQ commissioned by Don Eve of Eve’s Eve Crew and sat beneath the gargantuan doric pillars that flanked the doorway to the nerve centre; Don Eve’s office and the offices of her rarely present right hand Marlowe and her overworked left hand Marlowe.  He could hear left hand Marlowe talking over some renovations with a local architect, Chumly Saint John.

We have gathered so many taxes that our glorious leader would like a forty foot marble representation of her godliness just here by the portrait of her in her bra, I mean bravery pose.

Aomame walked in to find Taradiddle_ sitting and right hand Marlowe taking a siesta with a sombrero over his face.

Taradiddle_ have you seen the new stealthy pick pocketer we have got.  Have I told you my theory of nominative determinism?  Just as well he’s not called Wackback-William or Rogueless-Ryan.

Pickpocket-Paul is AvardT’s son.

Is he really?  I saw him, he looks nothing like AvardT really.  Where has he been hiding, Ugly Tree Wood?