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My name is Dorian, and I am a member of a neo-revolutionary guerilla front. I didn't intend to be, but it all just happened.

There was an incident one night, and my friend and I ended up here. I have not seen my friend now in several days. He joined with me, but he made a terrible mistake, which I tried to help him avoid making. It is not my concern anymore. He was a very good fighter and a dear friend, but I know better than to ask too many questions now. All anyone will tell me is that they
have taken him to the room.

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This whole story was originally written as a letter to a friend back in October of 1997. Within a few months, Joey overdosed one last time, and didn't come back. By May, I was packing up and moving across the country to Seattle where I had a nervous breakdown. Nancy ended up moving out of town at almost exactly the same time as me. A year later, I moved back to Philadelphia. Since then, well, I guess I'm still making the same mistakes over again.
- Paul D.

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