I will make a deal with you. Cops find your body, I’ll make it look like a suicide. No reason for the whole town to know I beat you like a b**ch twice.
You’d hear a noise. A high-pitched, kind of bunny-in-a-bear-trap sound. You’ll know it when it comes. ‘Cause you’re the one who will be making it.
If you’re lucky enough to fall in love, you have to be even stronger. Fight like a lion to keep it alive. So that on the day your love is weak enough or selfish enough or frickin’ stupid enough to run away, you have the strength to track him down and eat him alive.
I’m in the middle of South West nowhere here, all right? I have no money. I have no transport. I’m runnin’ dangerously low on drugs. And I’ll do somethin’ desperate, I swear to God.
Honestly, boys, I don’t know how you keep finding me. Truly, I don’t. But I do know that you’re going to be sorry you did. And not just the kind of “I took half a sheet of LSD down at the bullfight last night” kind of sorry, neither. No, no, no, no, no, boys. No, this kind of sorry it’s much worse.