Colors Ch. 8 free porn video

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Colors (1981) – Part 8 – Change.

Artie’s gone. Feel… lonely. Feel like old man. Things change too fast. Change all the time. No convenient tradition, always a new vice. Vices like common cold, changes too fast to be snuffed.

Bank robbers, sneak thieves. Not too many, anymore. Bank robbers became corporate moguls, sneak thieves became insurance claim agents on the take. Line between bad guy and not-good-guys getting blurrier every day. Can’t hear their voices anymore, can’t smell it on them anymore. Expensive cologne makes atrocity hard to recognize.

Even big ones, sharp ones now harder. Murder? Temporary insanity, passion, gloves that don’t fit after a month, reasonable doubt. Can’t hear the voices. Rape? Sadism? Torture? Hidden. Hidden under blankets of circumstance. Hidden under pretty skirts that begged for it and sexual gratification gone too far.

Drug dealers still easy. Pedophiles still easy. Whores and Muggers and Gang Members still easy. Poison is poison, children are children. One day, maybe poison won’t be poison, maybe children no longer allowed to be children. No longer protected by childhood as excuse.

Disturbing.

Heard story once. Johnny visited gas station with friends after school every day. Bought Pepsi. Bought Hostess Apple Pie. Friends good people. Johnny pays with five spot. Bills come back, quarters and pennies. Johnny always drops coins in jar on counter. Every time. Routine. Charity? Possibly. But believe it was just Johnny’s routine. Johnny gave back to world hundreds of dollars. Because of routine.

Another rumor.

Another night.

Another news report about shooting. Stabbing. OD. Photos of people that don’t deserve to be photo’d. Ripped clothes. Bodies. Crippled. Burnt. Hurt. Left without surviving family… good people not meant to be burdened with so much. People can’t live lives with all the news going on. Bars on windows. Alarms on doors. Fear.

Artie wanted me to stop.

Told me, ‘Can’t do it anymore’. Told me, ‘Want the images to go away’. Told me, ‘people not meant to be burdened with knowing’.

Artie’s dead… only kindess I’m capable of. Not designed for being blind. Not made to do nothing. Artie was good people. Good people can’t live life with it all going on. Artie saw too much. Options were limited. More bad dreams…

…or none.

Feel lonely, now. Creature of habit, though–that’s what Artie said. Creature of habit, like Johnny. Need the routine. Both of us scared of change.

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You're just 18, proud, a bit haughty, perhaps a little arrogant because of your looks, living with your single father after the messy divorce of your parents. You've become somewhat wild over the past few years as your body has developed, relishing making the dick of every boy who looks your way stand up and pay attention. Today, you're wearing a white baby tee, with a black lacy bra just barely visible beneath it, and your favorite short skirt; your favorite, because it always slides up on...

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