Poverty as of yet has kept me alive. Wealth I fear, would open the doors to an over indulgence so severe, that I am sure within two weeks, I would be decomposing in a shallow grave. My body rendered unto humus, would give life to flowers and grass, and maybe even corn, if it were planted over my final resting place.

Tweakers can be a rough lot, and all it would take is a drug fueled argument, to have one of those bastards, crack my head open, in order to take what I worked so hard for, or was given, whatever the case may be.