LOLSCHACH's Journal: May 30, 2009:
Went out for exercise down the sin swollen streets, passed prostitutes offering love in wet kisses and fumbling fingers. Filthy. Waited outside Happy Harry's. No need to go in, last call, closing time. My attention was soon drawn to stumbling boy emerging from the bar, mumbling while his lips clenched a cigarette. Drunk. Underage. Not good. Must be made example of.
Delinquent nearly tripped on sidewalk and fell into LOLSCHACH, proceeded to slam him against wall, cigarette falling from his gaping lips. Ashes, ashes, they all fall down. Boy mumbles again, can barely make out his drunken ramblings. "Phony." Hurm. Uses odd vernacular for boy no older than sixteen. Possibly a midget, similar to other criminals? Ask him for identification, look for contraband. No need to take risks. Seems dangerous. Boy too drunk to stand, starts to fall again, catch him.
Boy starts crying, mumbling again, something about a sister. LOLSCHACH cannot stand crying, reminds me too much of Dreiberg's whimpering, Veidt's acceptance speech for global warming film award, odd man-girl internet ranting. Hate it.
Slap boy across face, knocking his silly hat off. Tell him to go home, be good, stop drinking. Illegal. Or next run in with LOLSCHACH will not be so pleasant. Nods his head, turns to walk off, hear him uttering, "Phony," again. Tackle him.