Editing Stripped Gears Writefaggotry (section)

==4==

I always imagined that I’d die bleeding to death in the back room of a Siberian brothel. Of course, to be perfectly honest, I’m not entirely sure that’s where I am right now. It’s dark and dirty enough, and certainly smells like a whore house, but the cold could very well just indicate that it’s winter in New York City and the basement where I am currently tied to a chair hasn’t had central heating since the 1930’s. Also, while it certainly feels like I’m bleeding to death, all I’m really sure about is that at least two of my ribs are cracked and my mouth tastes like I’ve been munching on pennies. 
If I sound confident, it’s not because I am. Alice is probably lying in a similar basement somewhere, her arms and legs hung each on a separate hook, torso on some junk-slut chopping block in Midtown. Not that I’m the kind of dollboy that gets all weepy over his girl, but let’s face it, if we were taking bets on who could get me out of this, I’d skip right past the cops and straight to Alice running on a ASUS 52xx brain box put in a Mk 44 Hydraulic Sony Dom Bot (heavily modified by yours truly of course).