I lived in my car when I was sixteen years old. Every night, trying to fall asleep, I would listen to the voices. People going by, people who had…nothing going on. Nothing going for them, nothing to lose, scared to death that they would break in and take my stuff, take me. This gun made me feel like I had something. Something on them. But then today…that little boy will never walk again. Jo, he’s still alive. Barely. You know, back then I…I didn’t value my life all that much, but…it’s different now. I’ve outgrown this. I don’t need it anymore. I don’t want it.