Cleansing the third eye…

Sometime in his mid-20s, after being fired as a “Pizza Auteur” at a “Postmodern Pizza” franchise in some god-forsaken, dismal, grim suburban hellscape at the fringes of the San Diego metropolitan area, El Crow saw on TV a man with a tattoo that said, “Playing it safe kills your soul.” The man was good looking, well-built, adventurous. El Crow figured the man probably had little trouble getting laid so he immediately came to idolize the man. He took the message of the tattoo to heart. He immediately signed up for four credit cards and went out and maxed them all out by buying a beachwater blue Acura Integra, “gambling” (i.e. paying for prostitutes) in Vegas, purchasing three unused Sega Saturns and every game ever made for the console for his video game “museum,” and buying enough Tom’s Hot Fries and cream soda to last him a year.

At that time, El Crow was unemployed and not looking for work. The debt collectors were soon on his tail, but what were they going to do? They couldn’t garnish any wages, and, after he left California and moved back to Rio Frio, it was doubtful they even knew where he was. Who knows how hard they were even after him? Thirty thousand dollars’ worth of debt seems like a lot until you realize that’s only like a quarter of what your typical college graduate owes.

“Not maxing out all of my credit cards would’ve been playing it safe, Furious,” he told Manny Furious.

“Did you at least get laid?” Furious asked in return.

El Crow remained silent for a moment too long. And in that moment Furious could literally feel El Crow’s brain waves skitter through the Ether as he tried to think of ways to avoid answering the question.

“I, uh,” El Crow said finally. “I, uh, went gambling. Like I said.”

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