Desperate Plea for Rehab

Dear Chip. It's your type, dark version. Dear Chip, it's Justin.

I'm outside again, soaked through my last hoodie. Begging for another rehab bed

before madness choose me like a boogie. I've been clean for eight days.

Well, three. All right, Chip. One and a

half, but relapse ain't my fault. This whole outcast is a psychopath's

laugh. Frenchy's in the car park, dirty stepping like it's an Olympic

sport. Trying to sponsor new commerce straight back to his flat.

No court. Adam Gregory's lying again. Ginger flame bright as Sinny said