So beating up old ladies is your game, eh?  Real brave.  Too bad you’re not much good at it.  You lunge at the counselor with the deftness of a drunk Elizabeth Taylor only to have a framed diploma from Rutgers University smashed over your skull.  The night you spend in jail pushes you from teetering on the edge of personal ambivalence and a functioning state of wavering self-contempt into a free-fall through an abyss of unbridled self-loathing which leads you to a trade school where you earn a travel agent’s license and spend the rest of your life organizing vacations for yuppies.

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