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In Mexico, a man can truly get lost. And if you’re a bank robber, or maybe somebody who’s committed a fucked up, crazy crime, then that’s a good thing. But hiding takes its toll. First you don’t realize it, but soon the identity that you tried to shed starts getting pissed and knocking at your insides.
You know, when dealing with deep depression and sad shit, it’s cool to pretend like nothing is wrong — that sometimes works. But eventually, you’ve gotta call a goddamn spade a spade and be like, ‘Yo I’m fucked up, and I gotta make a change.’
Sometimes you gotta wash away the paint, and reveal to the world the jackass that is hiding beneath. Sometimes, you just gotta get back in the fucking game.
"— K F P
