To the guy who lives on East 37th Street between Foster Avenue and Avenue D in Brooklyn, you’re very lucky that I don’t hop on a plane to New York, knock on your door and snuff you right in front of your wife wife and children.
You’re lucky that I don’t show up at your office in Manhattan on 5th Avenue between 35th and 36th with a pair of brass knuckles and break your fucking jaw.
You’re lucky that I don’t go over to your young girlfriend’s apartment on Parkside Avenue with a baseball bat and hit you in the head and up and down your spine repeatedly until you can’t move anymore.
Yep, that’s right, I know everything about you.
Where you live, where you work, where you fuck that cute young art student. I know everything about you.
Including the fact that you post on this site and raw confessions a lot.
You should be very careful about who talk shit to, because you might get hurt.