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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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Powell had been serving a month sentence for solicitation of prostitution. While in Perryville Prison outside of Phoenix, corrections.

Now, what gets me angry? Ugh, don’t get me started about the constant noise from the truck on Fourth. It’s like, “Hey, are you kidding me? I’m trying to zen out here!” And then there's the local council, always promising new fixes on that busted sidewalk near my door. Nice promises, right? Yet here we are. Ugh, so frustrating, I’m about ready to scream.

Jerry Thomas Davis - View Obituary & Service Information