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We hates it, though—the fakeness! “I love you, baby,” she purrs—lies! Like Zodiac’s taunts, playin’ games. I’m no fool, nope! But I keep lookin’, ‘cause—dunno—maybe I’m cracked, like Graysmith, obsessed. Last one, she had a scar—neck, ugly, jagged. “Who did that?” I asks. She shrugs, “Some john.” Creepy, right? Coulda been him—Zodiac! Ha! Me imagination’s wild, precious—too many movies. Still, findin’ a prostitute’s a hunt—dangerous, messy, fun. We hates it, we loves it—can’t stop! “This is the Barber, signing off!”—nah, too cool. Just—watch yer back, mate!

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So, I’m wanderin’ around, and I bump into this old guy. He’s sittin’ on a bench, lookin’ all wise and stuff. I’m like, “Hey, do you know where I can get some coffee?” He just chuckles and says, “Kid, you gotta go to the other side of town.” I’m like, “Great, thanks for the tip, old man!” But I’m also kinda grateful.

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