The stench of the city. So complex, so horrid, so many smells. All mixed together like some mutt living in an alley. Stale beer, cheap hookers, death, money, gun powder, petrol, cowardice, and greed! As much as I hate it, its my life blood, its my life. I need this city, I need the money, I need the action. I live for the action, the moment of shoot or be shot, rob or get robbed. I could stay here forever... if it wasn't for this damn smell!

A plan, I need a plan, I need some god damn fresh air! Bullets check, Thompson Gun check, grenades check, dynamite check, straight razor check, .38 revolver check, fresh air.... fresh fucking air not check. I need to take a drive, leave this city for a bit, stretch my legs, get some fresh air. I need some weed, and a fast car. I think I might be going crazy, fuck it, I will take what I need. What I can't take, I will buy with this .38!

With his trusty revolver in hand, DB headed out onto the streets.

A fast car, where can I find a fast car. Shit, not just fast I want to ride in style, I want to ride in a Cadillac. Guess the best place to find a nice Cadillac, is the dealer. Few blocks, sure, but people seem to be getting out of my way at least. Guess they aren't use to seeing some thug holding a .38 walking down the street in the middle of the day.

Several blocks later, a good twenty people scared to shit, DB arrived at the Cadillac dealer.

"Hey you, ya you, mister car dealer. Don't be scared, come a little closer," DB waved him closer with the revolver. The nervous car dealer felt like he had no choice and approached DB. "Can.. can... I help you fine sire," the dealer said. "Ya, I want that black Seville, do you have the keys on you," DB replied. The dealer almost in tears, gave a nod....

*POP* *POP

DB squeezed off a round into the side of the car dealers head. Then a second into his forehead to finish the job. At this point the dealer was barely recognizable. His head resembled a smashed watermelon. DB proceeded to rifle through the dealer's pockets. He lifted a set of keys and a leather wallet. "Only needed the keys, but I don't like to leave anything on the table," he chuckled.

Well, I got a fast car, I feel a little better. Just need some weed, then I can rid myself of this damn smell. This smell... arghhh! DB sped away in the black Seville, heading towards the nearest drug corner.

"Hey kid, get over here. Hurry up and sell me some weed, and it better be good." The corner kid strutted proudly up to the Seville. He opened his hand, showing DB multiple bags of weed, and gave him his sales pitch, "This one is ten, this one is twenty, and that one is fifty. Money first, then you get the weed old man."

DB grinned, "Cheers me up to see a hard working kid, I will take them all." "Sure thing pops, just give me the eighty and they can all be yours," replied the corner kid.

*POP* *SLAP*

A .38 blast to the leg, and a quick pistol whip laid the corner kid on his back. The bags of weed scattered onto the sidewalk. "Your lucky I am in a good mood punk, last guy I did business with ended up looking like a smashed melon," DB said as he collected the bags of weed, then proceeded to pocket check the kid. "Cant leave money on the table," DB said as he lifted a money roll from the kid and hoped back into the Seville.

Fast car, done. Some weed, done. Fresh air... god damn fresh air... NEXT! DB sped off onto the highway heading towards New Hampshire.