First the Japanese, and now Peter. My life sucks…sucks big time. I couldn't do anything about it, though. Only one thing came to my mind…booze and a pussy. That bastard Peter already stole a hot girl that night, then beat me in the match. I wasn't feeling any guilt because he won with an unethical move so I figured we were even. My coach kept saying that I fought well, but that he just beat me. It doesn't matter that he beat me when I wasn't looking, or that my head gear was thrown away. What if I was in a tournament where I wouldn't be wearing the helmet? By experience or mistake, a beating is a beating. I am a loser, after all. The bastard, Mason, was also there. He must have laughed when I fell down. I needed something strong. I found some Jack Daniels in the refrigerator, and I keep drinking until I passed out. **** When I woke up, I didn't know what time it was, or what I was doing on the couch. Somebody was ringing a bell again and again.
