I always grew up hoping one day I'd go out like "Butch Cassidy
& The Sundance Kid," going down in one last blaze of glory
with a true friend standing beside me to the bitter end.
I just never figured my final moments would be spent running out
of a crack house, covered by my gay best friend and the love of
my life, a post-op transsexual hooker named Darla and sprinting
into a hail of bullets delivered by the combined forces of the NYPD
and the SouthSide Crips.
I guess it's true, we don't get to choose our destinies.
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