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I thought of Mitch, gunned down by a crazed speed-freak out to make a name for himself, and my anger turned to rage. I became detached from the world around me. A world I no longer recognised. And in that moment, in that infinitesimal space in time when thought becomes action, between the firing of a neuron and muscle contraction, I threw myself over to the darkness I pulled the trigger. They were out for my blood, and who could blame them. But even without Natalie, or Mitch, life was much more appealing beyond the enclosure of prison walls. All the good I thought I had done had never really meant anything to anyone but me, and I finally realised that it had all been pointless and futile. Perhaps that's why I refused to give up my freedom. Like that old alcoholic whose squat I shared.