Monday, June 30 2008, local time:

At some point in the morning, the authorities didn't find anything to keep me locked up for, so they had no other option but to let me go. They didn't actually say that, instead they apologized as much as they could, gave me back everything, and so forth. Except for that metallic thing I found in England, they didn't give me that. In fact, some even went as far as to say that I never had it in my bag. It still took a few hours before I left, as it took them that long to find it again. Or so they say. Either they thought it to be quite suspicious, as nobody had ever seen anything like it, so they investigated it, and with me craving to get it back, they decided to look more into it, only to conclude that they don't know what it is. That, or they knew what it was, but realized it's broken, therefor worthless to them. In either case, they returned it to me, and I took the bus, which brought me to Miami.

Maybe getting to Miami wasn't such a great idea. Upon entering, there was a car-chase, which ended with the chased car hitting the bus I was in. All of the passengers were alright at first, not so sure about the driver, but when the chased driver started shooting the policemen chasing him..., well, I must say I wonder where these cops learned to shoot, especially those two black guys, who appeared to be the ones in charge, who kept swearing their heads of using fifty words per second. Once they had the man in their clutches, they started to sing "Bad boys, bad boys" for whatever reason. Their happy mood faded when they found a dead body in the car's trunk. Again, they started to use fifty words per second, until I told them there are people in this bus who needed medical help, including myself, as I got shot in my arm. On of these black guys I mentioned, the tallest one, tried to shut me up by telling me there's a dead body, but I told him the body would still be dead when he finished helping the living.

The shot in my arm turned out to be just a flesh-wound. I should count myself lucky, as I need that arm to write in my journal. Once my arm was treated, I was approached by some blond guy, a Lieutenant Caine I think his name was. He asked me what I saw, I told him exactly how reckless these cops were, trying to show off. It appeared all he needed to hear, but then some other guy showed himself, which didn't seem to be much to Caine's liking. Apparently, to the police, this particular guy isn't exactly somebody who's liked by everybody. Then again, judging from what he told Caine, I deduced they thought the dead body in the trunk was alive at first, but shot dead in the fire-fight. But this guy, a coroner by the sounds of it, has found out the body was already dead before it was even put in the trunk. Despite that discovery, Caine couldn't get himself to complement the coroner. I remember him saying: "Dexter. You know you're not supposed to talk about such things in front of people."

With these cops fighting amongst each other about who gets to take the case, I decided to sneak out of there. Once out of ear-sight, I realized I haven't even been in the States for much longer than a day and already I'm involved in some kind of crime. "Welcome to Miami." I sighed at some point, at which some group of guys replied: "Party in the city where the heat is on". No idea why they did that, what I do know is that I only ended in Florida because it was the cheapest flight I could get, not because I like a sunny area. My first order of business is to get out as soon as possible.

I found a truck-driver who could take me as far as to a place called Clearwater. It's not outside of Florida, but it's up North, which is at least close to it, I suppose. So I'm driving along, as I'm writing this. I don't know the driver's name, as he didn't tell me, nor did I ask him. It's funny, as so far I've met people who wouldn't shut up about themselves, but he wouldn't even think of introducing himself. So far, I'm sure he's the friendliest person I've met here in the States. Though, he talks through his radio to other drivers, and judging from the sound of their voices they didn't particularly like the driver. It was through them that I found out he calls himself Rusty Nail. Only seconds ago, he started to threaten people that he'd rip their jaws out if they wouldn't stop treating him the way they do. He also stressed that he has done it before and got away with it. I'm sure he's bluffing, but his anger wasn't played, given how he threw away the microphone he used. He looked surprised to see that I wasn't upset to see him like this, but he didn't ask me why that was. Honestly, my parents would throw with things for less, they get ticked off much easier than this guy did. Given that I've been treated in similar ways as he was, I don't blame him for his temper either. Apart from that, it's a quiet ride. I only hope he actually was bluffing when he threatened to rip off peoples' jaws.

Tuesday, July 1 2008:

When I woke up the next morning, I noticed that Rusty Nail had some red stains on his clothes. Either he just got in a fight and is wounded, or he spilled a little too much ketchup. Or did he really try to hurt somebody? I don't know, but I decided to not ask him anything about it.

He dropped me off in Clearwater, like he said he would. Still, it was somewhere in the middle of the city, so I had to find a way out of there, so I could hitch another ride out. On my way, I encountered a torn down building, where people were sitting, camping. A passer-by told me that the building used to be the Scientology complex, and that the people camping there are Scientologists with nowhere else to go. Also according to that passer-by, Scientology promises it's followers it will grant them super-powers. Everyone believed it to be a whole lot of crap, but rumor has it that somebody actually did acquire powers of some kind, which he or she used to destroy the building. And he or she didn't just destroy it at random, he or she made sure that the remains of the building are put down in such a way, it would read as "el Barto" from the sky. I believe this is something the Americans call a tall tale, it has to be as I find it hard to believe this to be true, especially the "el Barto" bit. It's like looking at a skunk and realize it looks like an ex of yours. But then, Americans are quite gullible, they actually still believe that God is responcible for everything, and that it's his will that the people would go to war. But then, that must mean he's not at all...

Okay, I don't remember what I wanted to write there exactly. What I do remember is that while I was writing this, a storm broke loose, and a lightning almost hit me. Knowing that I was about to write a bad word about the Christian god, some would say that God himself decided to strike me down. If that's the case, then he only just proved what I was trying to say: that God is anything but benevolent. In every which way you put it, God is an even worse parent than my own parents were. All the more reason for me to defy his authority.