I have had a shitty life, a real shitty life and it started from day one. I was born in a trailer park, that’s right, in a trailer in a trailer park. Not some fancy hospital, but in a trailer park. There were two reasons, firstly, the ambulance people couldn’t find the park, and second, I did not have nearly as far to go as they did. I was told that I was completely bald at birth, I wonder if that time counts, but it did not worry me then, nor anybody else for that matter. Those gaping at me were more interested in the shape of my nose and the number of my toes. Actually life wasn’t too bad early on, I had warm milk in abundance – so I was told, but I was screamed at as much as I screamed. There was not too much to relate in my early life, I seem to remember a lot of playing in the dirt, old scraps of motor cars lying all over the place and getting my face and hands wiped with a wet rag a lot, but when does memory and hearsay overlap. Flashes of playing with other trailer park brats appear a lot, we even had a clubhouse in an old storm damaged trailer, walking around nibbling on a rather dirty slice of bread and that sort of thing comes to mind as well. I also remember asking about my father one day, and was told that I did not have a father. I got some story about a stork - which I believed for a number of years, until about the time I found out that the reason for not getting any worthwhile Christmas presents was not because our trailer did not have a chimney.
One of the main features of my early school days was that of constantly being referred to as 'those kids'. Everything that went wrong at school was always blamed on 'those kids', and I suppose we did make good whipping posts, nobody would ever consider anything bad could have been perpetrated by the better class kids when 'those kids' were around. As we advanced in grades we found that there were usually a few of 'those kids' getting home late from detention on a daily basis. I naturally hated school and my grades, like everything else, were shitty - except for anything involving numbers. I could look at a column of figures and add them up mentally, or even do mixed calculations at a pretty good lick, I also had a good memory for faces and voices. But don't ask me to have to read anything or ask me where Australia is, and as for algebra and those other funny named things, I was hopeless.
Life at home was not too great. I mentioned the father thing, but there was never a shortage of men at our place, some stayed for a few days, others a bit longer. I never called any of them 'dad' or anything, in fact I got pretty good at not calling them anything, and there was nothing much I wanted to say to them anyway. Most of their names are a blur, a few come to mind and some stand out vividly. Butch was one such person. He was huge, powerful and turned plenty mean when he had a bottle or so of bourbon in him. It was usually a bit less than a full bottle because mom did her fair share of polishing the stuff off too. When he was sober he was pretty attentive to mom and loved brushing and stroking her long hair. He often said that he had a phobia about women with short hair and even got into some pretty heated verbal exchanges when he shouted 'dykes' at gay couples. Once I saw him being pulled out of a slugging match before too much harm was done because he thought some guys wife's hair was too short 'for a decent women'.
One thing about trailer folk, they are pretty straight forward, and it did not take me long to find out that I was not particularly attractive, and probably never would be. I had not inherited my mother’s hair, although with a bit more attention I suppose it would have been in better condition. My eyes were no particular colour that stood out, my nose was a bit too wide and my mouth was too big. I suppose if I had been born a boy I might have rated higher in the looks department. I was big though, not fat but a big girl, easily the size a boy would have been at the same age. I have big bones, heavy wrists, a big chest, not including my not too big boobs, and powerful legs, the reason that I did reasonably well in the field events at athletics, even in junior school. I was also not picked on by the other kids and surprisingly enough, never turned into a bully, but I also did not take crap from anybody, and to a certain extent that included Butch too. I gave him a lot of lip and earned a few slaps from him in return. I guess the final straw was when I was about 13, that age when a girl starts to become a woman, and for a while at least is caught in a sort of mental and physical twilight zone. Gender differences were never a big deal in the park, trailers are so small that being prudish was out of the question. From time to time you saw other members of your family naked, male or female – us girls never had to corner a boy with the request to ‘show us yours and we’ll show you ours’ – we had seen it all long ago. And it was not only what we saw that set us apart. Trailer walls are pretty thin and we heard virtually everything that went on in other rooms around us. We got to know what the creaking and shaking was caused by, and what certain phrases and responses indicated during an ‘intimate’ encounter. Butch was pretty demanding of mom, in fact he insisted on at least a nightly ‘bang’, as he so tenderly put it. Mom was not always as obliging as expected and there was often a heated exchange of words. The problem started, as I said, at about 13. One night I heard Butch reply to mom’s plea of a headache, that perhaps Lizzie did not have a headache. Mom’s vehement reply and the subsequent rattling of the trailer sort of made it clear what had been intended by his remark. He started brushing up against me going though doors or in the narrow passage in the trailer. Soon after that I found him sniffing my undies that were in the wash basket - that was it. I felt offended and unsafe, I had to do something or else what had happened to some of the girls in the park was going to happen to me as well.
Candy, one of our gang from the park lived with the local self-styled barber. He had a lean-to attached to his trailer and a set of hair cutting tools with which he did the parks residents for a reasonable fee, male and female – as long as the style could be achieved with his Wahl clippers and a No. 1, 2, 3 or 4 guard. Anyway, remembering Butch’s dislike of short haired women, I struck on a plan of self defence. I spoke to Candy, she liked idea and agreed to give me a buzz cut, not too short, a number 3, we decided. It was at the start of the summer break so I would have time to look a bit respectable when school went back again. I went to her on Friday afternoon and we slipped into her father’s shed, she caped me and I took a seat in their chair. With the clipper plugged in and humming she wasted no time in running it up my hair from the back and out through the front hairline. My hair was only just to shoulder length so there was not all that much to cut off, after about five passes I had a good buzz cut on top and Candy had only the sides to remove – she was actually quiet good, having watched lots of haircuts over the years. Five minutes total was all it took and I had a respectable buzz cut, less than a finger width long all over. Now for the fun part, the reaction!
Mom came home and flipped. She was shouting at me when Butch walked in as well, always ready for a fight, he jumped in on mom’s action. They asked the reason why and I told them ‘self defense’, I pulled no punches and told them that Butch’s sexual slights were worrying me, mentioning the brushing up against me, the panty story and what I heard through the wall. I told them I did not want to become the focus of another trailer park gossip. That really did it. Mom called me a damned liar and swore that Butch never uttered those words or did the things I suggested. She asked if I thought he was some kind of freak. Butch immediately picked up on the word ‘freak’ and really let me have it. He slapped me twice in the face and said he would teach me a lesson and show me what a freak was. Mom told him to go for it. He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and dragged me through the door towards Candy’s trailer, shouting for Ted, her father, as he dragged and shoved me along Ted was waiting at his door when we arrived; Butch shoved me into the chair and told Ted he wanted to teach this little bitch a lesson or two. He muttered about not being a freak that screws children and other similar remarks while Ted stood and waited. He told Ted that if I wanted to have short hair I could, I could be a freak with a shaved head, then I would feel how freaks felt. He told Ted to take it all off, a smooth head shave.
This is not really what I was expecting, but I was fuming, my face was stinging and I was one ball of loathing. I was caped again, within a matter of a few hours, and Ted placed his Wahl’s at my hairline, without a guard, tilting them up slightly so that the points of the teeth ran on my scalp. He seemed to be enjoying this and he took his time taking off as much hair as he could as slowly as possible. I could feel the points of the clipper’s teeth lightly scratching my skin; even the touch of the moving teeth was detectable. He took a bit longer than Candy had done, and he had less hair to remove. I did not offer any resistance, I was too cross and the only thing I thought of was revenge, how to get rid of this monster once and for all. I cringed when Butch came to feel my scalp when Ted had put his Wahl’s down, and was on the verge of spitting at him when he let out a mean chuckle. Ted squirted some shaving gel into his hand from an aerosol can and rubbed it into my near smooth scalp till he got up a good lather. Not being too modern, he started shaving my head with an old twin blade razor, taking short strokes and covering each area several times. He was actually humming to himself with satisfaction, and adding fuel to my loathing. When he was finally finished and had rubbed my now shiny scalp to his satisfaction, he looked a Butch and passed a finger over his eyebrow. Butch burst out laughing and managed to get out something about a ‘real freak’ amongst his raucous screams of laughter. Ted smeared some gel on each eyebrow and with three or four strokes of the razor, satisfied himself that my brow was now smooth too. Ted wiped my whole head roughly with a not too clean towel and shooed me out of his chair, then he and Ted went into the trailer, presumably to celebrate on a job well done.
I went back to our trailer to show mom what had happened to me. Instead of a bit of sympathy I got a lecture on being rude to the only man who had ever loved her etc., and it was only my just deserts for my behavior. This was too much, I reminded her of the shiners, the broken teeth and the myriads of bruises that she bore, and then I stormed out, having lost the last bit of respect that I had still held for her. I made my way to the wrecked trailer that was our clubhouse, and soon Candy, and slowly the rest of the gang joined me. They had managed to round up a few bottles of fruit flavoured Vodka, and commiserated with me by passing the bottles around the group. They were not all that surprised at my baldness, it was something that was not all that unusual in the park, shaved so smooth, and eyebrows off too was a bit beyond the norm, but clipper shaves amongst the girls and especially women was a strangely frequent occurrence, be it on a dare, a lost bet or a drunken husband taken revenge for some assumed injustice, so I was not such a novelty. But I was still hell-bent on revenge.
For some reason that weekend turned into a real boozer in the park. There was a piss-up in nearly every trailer, ours being no exception and by Saturday evening almost everybody was out of it. We all knew well enough to stay well out of things and spent most of the days in our clubhouse. I crept back at about ten. All the lights were blazing in the trailer but there was not a sound. I crept into their bedroom and found both had passed out. Sue’s jeans and panties (I had decided I was no longer going to call her mom or mother) were ripped and pulled down to her ankles. There was blood on her pubic hair and cum on her stomach. Her one eye was swollen and her mouth and nose were bloody. I did not feel any sympathy; in fact it got my blood boiling again. Having fetched the scissors from the kitchen, I grabbed chunks of her hair and lopped them off about an inch from her scalp, carrying on until she had nothing but a spiky crop left. Once again, time to wait for the reaction.
Butch had a far better tolerance for alcohol than Sue did and came round while she was still totally blotto. I was still asleep when he stormed into my room. He had a length if electrical flex in his hands and grabbed my wrists, tying them together in a swift movement. Dragging me into their bedroom by the flex, he tied me to the bed post and went off grumbling that he had had enough of us females, he would fix us, etc. etc. Some minutes later he came back carrying what were obviously Ted’s clippers. Sue still had not stirred, so Butch picked her up and flung her into the nearest chair, using more of the flex to hold her in place. He plugged the clippers into the wall socket and switched them on. I could see that it was no more than a number two guard that he had on the clippers, Sue was going to sport a nice short style, I watched emotionless as her remaining hair fell around her, although her scalp did not show through because of her thick hair. Butch was furious and yanked the clippers several times when they had snarled on a clump of hair, pulling out longish strands in the process. She reacted to the pain but was still unaware of what was going on. Butch clippered away, repeating that he had had enough of us bitches and this was a keepsake to remember him by. As he made the last pass, Sue’s head lolled onto her chest. Butch took this opportunity shear her neck without a guard, and finishing in blunt line across her nape at well above ear lobe height. As a final show of nastiness, he lifted her head and ran the clippers over the perfectly shaped eyebrows she cherished so. He said, must have been intended for me, to return the clippers to Ted, then threw his possessions, and some of ours in a suitcase, also ours. I heard his pick-up roar all the way out of the park gates.
Here we were now, I was completely bald, and without eyebrows, Sue was close cropped and with stubble on her brows, and both securely tied up, the question was whether to shout for help, Sue was still half naked and I was in a flimsy night shirt, or first see if I could somehow work my bonds loose. It took close on an hour of tugging and twisting with my teeth to work my knots loose and release myself. Sue was just starting to come round, so I untied her and hauled her onto the bed. A glass of cold water in her face helped tremendously in bringing her back to reality. She held her head, symptoms of a hang-over, and slowly aware became that something was wrong, the headache forgotten for the moment, she felt all over her scalp and realised that her hair was no longer than a quarter of an inch anywhere, what really startled her was the bare area at the back of her head and neck. She staggered to the mirror and took about a minute to fully grasp the situation. She turned as to attack me, assuming I was responsible but I easily fended her off and tried to explain that her beloved Butch had done it, no need to reveal my part in the events anymore. I pointed out her swollen eye, bruises and missing clothing and she slowly accepted the situation. I left her to get herself together again, not returning to the trailer till sunset. I gave her my version of what had happened and she of course shifted the blame back onto me. She also went ape about me addressing her by her given name, but I ignored her hollering. Eventually out of anger and frustration she threatened to keep my head shaved bald. I told her it was no problem if that was what she wanted, but it would not change my feelings.
She did keep me shaved bald, Ted agreeing to do it free every few days, until about three weeks before school started again. That period of my life was hell, but here were moment of levity. I usually dressed in jeans and a loose shirt, and with just a buzz or no hair at all I easily passed for a boy, so when a group of us went to a Mall I would just blend in, as long as I only spoke in a whisper. The best times were when I needed a restroom and, not being able to use the Ladies, went into the Mens with the rest of the boys. I would stand around washing hands or on any other pretext to watch the amusing things men got up to when thinking themselves amongst their own kind only. The sights were too many to relate, but they sure took a bit of drudgery out of my otherwise unhappy existence. One thing that bears relating was the strange things men did after peeing, we just wipe and that is it, the different ways of shaking it, twirling it, twisting it, milking it, some men sort of playing with it and others jumping up and down had me all but bursting out in laughter, and a young girl could not very well do that in a Mens toilet.
Sue and I had to live together, her vanity had taken a serious blow, although it is still incomprehensible to me how a person who lets themselves go so due to alcohol, can during moments of sobriety, be so particular about their looks, but that is in the past. Men still came and went, after both our hair and eyebrows had grown back, my eyebrows much thicker than before and hers much sparser. I was continually reminded that I had driven away her special man, and no amount of convincing would make her accept what a bastard he really was.
My final year at junior high was a catastrophe; I did well in my arithmetic classes but failed dismally in everything else, so much so that I had to repeat the year. The end of the next year my grades did not improve at all, and I decided to drop out, school was not for me. I got a job as a shelf packer in a nearby supermarket and eventually made it to the check out line. It took me a few months to get to know my customers and to work out a neat little scheme. I learned which customers took note of their change, which ones paid any attention to the indicated price of their purchases and who attached any importance to their cash register slips. Some I could short change, pocketing a few dollars a day that way, but the better scam was to scan a barcode from a candy wrapper for a reasonably expensive item, charge the calculated price and pocket the difference, fortunately this particular store still printed prices on their barcode labels (at that time). This brought in a fair additional income on a pretty regular basis.
I was doing a late shift one night and it was almost cash-up time when I noticed something funny going on higher up the checkout line, it was a hold up and our robber, in a ski mask and gloves was working his way through the tills, with the huge pistol he was flashing around nobody seemed to want to argue with him and there were no security personnel in sight. This was another opportunity not to be missed. I slipped three one hundred dollar bills from my cash register and tucked them into bra before he got to me. He waved the pistol at the cash drawer and told me to empty it into his duffle bag, I knew that voice, and then I recognised the eyes and a scar on his lower lip. It was Mitch Mitchell, he had been two years ahead of me in junior high. He had cased our store well and had emptied all the cash drawers and made his getaway long before the cops got there. We were all naturally interrogated but none of us were of any help in the investigation and it just blew over.
I continued with my scam and was doing quite well, until I got a bit greedy and then the wheels fell off – literally. A dear old lady came in to buy a pushchair for her granddaughter’s first baby, I pulled the scam and pocketed nearly two hundred dollars because I needed a new cell phone, but the next day the old lady and the very pregnant granddaughter were back. They had tried the pushchair and the front left pair of wheels fell off. They apologised that they did not seem to have the correct cash slip, but the time and cashier were about right, I must have given them the wrong slip. The manager was called, who sent his assistant to locate the purchase, which of course he could not do, after much apologising, the item was replaced and I was called onto the manager’s office. I pleaded innocence and ignorance but to no avail. They had worked out what I had done and I got fired. They refused to pay any outstanding money I should have received and threatened legal action if I complained. That was fine by me; I was way ahead of anything they might have owed me. When I got home and Sue was furious. She had relied on my meager income for a few extra luxuries and now that had dried up – she kicked me out. Packing my few belongings and retrieving my stash from behind a loose drywall I caught a cab to a nearby motel and checked in for a few days.
Mitch, now there was an idea, I had the works on him and my silence might just be worth something. It was not too difficult to trace him so I took a cab to his house, suitcases and all. He was home when I arrived, pushing my way past him onto his place. Thinking back, I had taken quite a chance, if he was prepared to wave big guns around supermarkets, what was to stop him silencing me here on the spot after I told him my story. It turned out he was quiet a nice guy after all, then at least. Trailer parks do not breed prudes and virgins are an endangered species in those hostile environments, therefore it did not take much thinking for me to accept his offer to move in with him, after all, between us we had quiet a bit of money, my cache and his hauls from several supermarket heists. He never told me how he got around the guards but it did not take long for that source to be closed after several audacious jobs.
He was good in bed and we had a lot of fun together, but what really got his interest was when I told him about being bald. He had me repeat the story several times and took to pulling my hair back tight over my head and had me telling him to imagine me without hair, that was a terrific turn-on for him and I started to get into the spirit of it too. One night while going down on him, he said that it had become his ultimate fantasy to get a blow job from a bald headed woman. I asked him if he was suggesting that I have my head shaved again, to which he nodded enthusiastically. I finished him off and in the heat of he ensuing passion said that I would if he would too. Mitch agreed readily and we started making plans, or at least I did. It would be easier with clippers for the initial phase, and I knew where to get those, after all, I had another score to settle. At about midnight we made our way to the back fence of the trailer park and I located the hole we had used as a shortcut for various reasons. I crawled through, clutching a meaty hamburger and got to Ted’s trailer. His dog Bobs was hesitant, but the hamburger pacified him. I used Ted’s hidden key and liberated him of his clippers and most of his other equipment. Just for fun I locked up and replaced the key in its hiding place.
We got home and dumped our loot on the bed, what we had was enough to open a barbershop, but this one would only ever have two customers. Mitch picked up a pair of scissors and snipped them a few times, then he grabbed a hunk of my hair from behind and cut it off, teasing me by letting it fall in front of my face. I picked up the other scissors, grabbed the front of his hair and hacked that off. We ended up rolling around on the bed, taking chunks of hair of each other’s heads at random, probably not the cleverest thing to do but it was fun. I can still picture the two of us with huge patches of near bare skin and wisps of hair all over our heads, having wild sex amongst the mixed locks on the bed sheets. We woke up next morning sweaty, itchy and covered in hair. It took us a full half an hour before we stopped laughing at each other, including another good frolic. Now came the serious stuff! We played rock, scissor, paper and I won. I elected to clip first.
Mitch was seated on the kitchen chair with only a towel across his lap as I passed the guardless clippers up the back of his head and out over his forehead. I reversed the next stroke and went down his neck, back up the other side and then around over his ears. Random paths cleared everything down to a fine stubble and he got up. He seated me in the chair and laid the towel over my lap. I got a very uneven Mohawk as an opening play. We both had a good chuckle over that, then he progressively made it narrower. It was about an eighth of an inch wide just before it disappeared completely. We changed places and Mitch immediately had a huge blob of shaving cream on his head. I burst out laughing at him, he took the can cream me and covered my scalp with about three inches of foam, then he sat down again and I started shaving him. I took my time, this was fun and we were in no hurry, but all too soon his head had nothing left to shave off anymore. After wiping his head clean I felt it all over with my lips and loved the sensation. Then it was my turn. He smoothed out what shaving cream was left on my head and shaved me exactly as I had shaved him; he too felt my smooth scalp with caressing lips. From this end it felt just as good – now does that make it two or three times bald? This time it was consensual and felt absolutely divine, now rubbing my own hands over my once again bald head felt erotic. Needless to say, we did not see much sunlight that day and that evening we decided that I looked a bit uneven, so we made the rug match the drapes. This was a first for me and lead to another serious bout of some heavy sex.
The evenings were cool, so we covered our heads when we went out for any reason, nobody seeing us with our shaved heads, and we shaved each other every second day because we were so turned on by the look and the feel. Going down on each other was the best, there is little to beat caressing a smooth shaved scalp between your legs while you are being stimulated to all sorts of orgasms. Mutual scalp rubbing during intercourse is also unbelievable, more so if your scalps are slick with oil. Those are some of my best ever memories.
Mitch had outplayed his hand with the supermarkets, I had been blacklisted with every shop of note for miles around and our finances were low. Mitch loathed the idea of a normal job and I was not qualified for much else than a check-out girl. Discussing our plight one night, I remembered my jaunts into the Mens toilets without being found out, and this gave me an idea, but then I needed a wig and had to make sure that I was never seen bald in public. We managed to get a wig at a charity shop without any fuss. It was nice, blonde shoulder length with a bit of an up curl at the ends, very natural looking. It actually suited me quiet well. Next I had to get some make-up, the normal things, lipstick and gloss, eye shadow, eyeliner, mascara and in several shades and finishes. Having been a bit of a tomboy, I had to learn to apply this lot with a certain amount of flair and finesse and I had to shape my eyebrows into very feminine tapered arches. We would also be needing matching oversize sun glasses.
The idea was that we would walk into a preselected convenience store. Identically dressed, dark glasses and bald. Mitch would do most of the talking, at times using the armature ventriloquist skills he had, as I mimed a practised dialogue. He would clear out the till and whatever cash was available while I would menacingly wave another pistol around. Timing was important and the shop should be empty. After making our getaway, we would remove our glasses, I would quickly apply lipstick and put my wig on and slip out of the ‘man’ clothing that had been worn over my dress. The hauls were never big and we had to carry out several such jobs before we could take a break, and we never got greedy. Soon we worked out a way of disguising Mitch’s car, change license plates, disguise the grille and mirrors and always parked in a spot where the camera image would be poor. Out of 12 jobs, we were pulled over twice, and both times we passed scrutiny with ease, but our MO was getting to be known and circulated, especially after one local newspapers labeled us as the ‘Bald brothers’. We did not want to widen our field of operation too much as it would have become a Federal case if we crossed state lines. We did however concentrate jobs around a particular central point so as to make it look like the thieves lived within the area being hit at the time. When we wanted to move further afield we even operated out of motels at times. Pickings got leaner as new surveillance equipment was installed and more sophisticated alarms were introduced. The amount of ready cash was also less as more specialised drop safes were used, and we naturally had to take more risks. We were stopped more often after a job, but our disguise held. These near escapes gave us an extra high and we would have great sex when we got back to where we were staying, preceded often of a thorough shaving of my somewhat neglected pubes.
We had been ‘on the road’ for about five weeks and decided on one more job and we would head home. As a celebration, we had shaved each other perfectly smooth, for an extra kick, Mitch shaved me three times and we polished each other’s heads to a nice shine (we had a quicky before we went out). It was a small town – sheriff and probably two or three deputies – where we made our hit. Everything seemed to be going according to plan, Mitch was heading for the cash register, the Oriental clerk had his hands way above his head and I had him covered from the door side, when somebody in uniform stood up from behind a grocery rack and shouted for us to drop our weapons. We spun around and the clerk pulled out a pistol grip shotgun and fired. He had not taken proper aim and a couple of pellets hit me in the right arm, making me drop the pistol. Mitch was hit in the left arm and side, but the deputy was hit in the throat and face. Mitch fired at the clerk hitting him in the shoulder; He was knocked backwards and the shotgun went off again, hitting the light fitting above his head and blasting away one attachment point. The fitting swung down and hit the clerk in the head and he went down, the shotgun firing as he hit the floor, destroying the surveillance recording system under the counter in the process. The deputy had not been alone, his colleague had been outside where we had not seen him and he rushed in, pistol aimed so that there was no alternative but for us to surrender.
We were handcuffed and the sheriff arrived, being treated none too gently as our escapade had resulted in the death of one of their own. The sheriff slapped our glasses off; imagine the surprise at my perfectly made up face, minus lipstick, and a shiny completely bald head. He came out with some pretty coarse explicit phrases and grabbed my crotch. Then he really let fly with the ‘bitches’ and ‘queers’ etc. We were taken away in his car and charged. Bail was out of the question, so we sat in jail till our case came up. For some reason we were being charged separately and were each afforded a public defender. The case was really very much cut and dried and I asked if there was any way of organising a plea bargain. My Counsel said that there were no grounds on which I could bargain, as Mitch had already implicated me in the shooting of the shop’s clerk and named me as the instigator, the brains behind the scheme and the leader of the duo. There was no surveillance footage left to counter his story so it was his word against mine; the clerk was also of no use as he changed his story every time he told it. I suppose that being a shaven headed woman cast a lot more of the focus on me and made any chance of leniency a remote prospect.
As I said initially, I have had a pretty shitty life, and it did not get any better. I was sentenced to 15 years on multiple counts of armed robbery with attempted murder thrown in. I was sentenced with no chance of early parole. Mitch got a lesser sentence of three to five years for multiple counts of armed robbery.
From here on in there is not much to relate, my life has become about as intresting as watching paint dry in real time, and will not be very different for the foreseeable future.
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