The world is quite like London. It’s not good. It’s not bad. It just is. There’s no morality or dishonor. Just your own lonely code. Until your race is run. Until the end. Until we’re all just ghosts of the people we once thought we were.
Now before we start, I’ve got a little joke for you? You’re gonna love this one. Paranoid schizophrenic who walks into a bar…
God doesn’t ask if we accept this life. There is no choice. Life is forced upon you. The only choice is how you live it. Or not. That’s a choice as well.
Aristocrats and criminals have a lot in common. They’re both selfish, get bored easily, and have access to wads of cash they didn’t have to work honestly to get. The topper? Neither have any interest in bourgeois rules or morality. Put it all together with a roulette wheel. A stunning recipe for success.
What are you doing with that? Are you going to bake me a cake? Gonna sing me a song and watch me blow out me f*****g candles? I come here for a f*****g shootout, right? A proper shootout with some proper men. Like Colonel Custer and Geronimo. Have you ever heard of them? No. Because you were too in your penny baking f*****g fairy cakes weren’t you?