Be alone with my thoughts? Near on unachievable these days.

If planting bombs net enough, what can you do? You become bomb.

Seedy bars, betrayal, a beguiling woman... Sounds like something out of a pulpy noir thriller.
"Pepe was used to listening to his customers' complaints. But now it was he who needed to get something off his chest. It was the same old story - an unfaithful wife, in a city where everything was uncertain..."

The wind whistling through boarded-up windows. Tumbleweeds scratching across dry, sandy tracks. That's how towns die. Not with a bang, but with whispers and whimpers.

I have found that people lie, most often deceiving themselves. Not so the dead...
The dead are so very, very loud. And yet, lying is not in their nature.
It its so... humbling - to listen to the dead speak.