I pushed open access panel to the heat vent.

I pushed open access panel to the heat vent. I know my landlord told me not to mess around, but we were freezing and something was jamming the tube. I found a string and pulled.
Up popped a hand out of the tube. A severed human hand. Just then I heard the landlord walking up. I put the hand in my pocket. The Landlord said, "
Manny, can you give me a hand? You can pocket a handsome rent reduction. It's not a handout. I need you to do some handy work." I felt the hand in my pocket grasp my hand and
shook it. Deal! But the hand in my pocket was underhanded and didn't lend a hand when it came time to hand over the hand lotion. They began slapping at each other. Mom
Told me folding stories are a healthy addiction. She was right!
I kept writing lines on digital paper, virtually folding them and sending them to the world in an attempt to be understood by society. I never knew if I ever succeeded but
It felt like the right thing to do. At least in the short term. I mean, if you can't change the world with your actions then why not try with your word. And little folded messages
passed between strangers, little notes of wisdom like "Brush your teeth twice a day" and stuff. Listen, my plan is foolproof. The world will be a better place for it, trust me.
But, alas, being a paranoid schizophrenic...I didn't trust anybody...so, I traded in my toothbrush for an AK47. I kept it clean. Even after I used it on the El Chapo.
My teeth are worth it, I repeated, from behind bars. Over my cold, dead, gums.

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