When human life is cheap and every problem can be solved with violence.
When justice is handed out the barrel of a gun by a giggling madman.
When all you want to do is run out into the street, steal a car, slam it into the nearest police van and speed off into traffic, laughing and screaming as a growing swarm of cops follow, riddling your car with bullets, until the car bursts into flame and you have to jump from the still moving, flaming wreckage seconds before it explodes.
And nobody can tell you a single reason this is not a good idea.
Because life is cheap.
And death is cheaper.
And when this happens to you;
You know you need to turn off Saints Row and get some sleep.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Labels: Saints Row, Short story, Violence
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