Hispanicus: The Apostate Life of Antonio Pintero

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I’ve lived the life of a rock star! I had it all: the money, women, cars, clothes, and jewelry. I had everything, and anything, you can possibly think of. People often say when you live fast, you die young. Shit, if that’s the case then my life was that of a slick, mother-fucking turbo charged Lamborghini, racing at the ultimate of speeds. Problem is, I’m still alive. Truth is, I shouldn’t be.

I just laid there on the bed, with a pained look on my face, hands behind my head. The cheap motel we were in, an added touch of vanity as I stared up at the mirrors on the ceiling looking at my pathetic self. Having once lived a glorified life, things were a lot different now. Then, my eyes got watery. I’d finally experienced an epiphany of sorts, but deep down inside I knew I would never be able to change the actions I took upon myself and others. I knew it was all catching up to me, and fast. I laid there, wallowing in my own misery, all the while some cheap crack head hooker furiously attempted to suck on my limp cock. She finally gave up and got off the bed. This is fucking useless! she said dejectedly, as she gave me a nasty look to boot. She then proceeded to walk into the bathroom, possibly to try and listerize the ‘failed blow-job for quick cash’ off of her breath.