I’m dipped out of a loop across Georgia and Florida to swing over to Tallahassee to see Kim. Not Killer Kelly Kim, the other one.
I tried to sneak the philosophical concept of killing and its possible justifications in casual conversation. He saw through me. He asked me who I wanted killed. He likes people to think that he has mob connections. I don’t buy that for a second. But it wouldn’t surprise me if he knew a person or two that would commit a murder for him.
I told him I was talking hypothetically. I told him that nobody was giving me any trouble. He said that I didn’t talk enough to have hypothetical questions. I retorted that I have plenty to say, it’s just that around him I never get a chance to talk.
We sat in his kitchen talking and drinking sloppy frozen margaritas. He explained his position that if anyone was a threat to his family, he’d kill them and not have a second thought about it. I don’t totally believe him but I don’t think he’s 100% full of shit either.
I may have to look outside the wrestling world for good role models.
That night I lay on Kim’s couch in the darkness not sleeping and thinking about other people I could talk to about this. I realized what I’m doing. I want to do something bad and I’m looking for someone to tell me that it’s okay when I know that it’s not. I can’t have someone else make this okay for me. I have to decide for myself.
I’m trying to get clean by doing something dirty and that doesn’t work. The question I have to ask myself is not who can make this okay, the question is can I live with doing it?
Rocket Cat 