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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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Back at the office, I’m typing like a madman. I’m sweating bullets, and my brain’s all over the place. I’m mixing up numbers, and I’m like, “What the heck is wrong with me?” I take a deep breath, and just when I think I’m getting it together, the fire alarm goes off! Seriously? In the middle of my meltdown?

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