I am just another clown. Another entertainment. Another laughter. These people here, they are all watching me—none of them are showing sympathy. They just find it amusing to have someone like me, in a city of the lawless, is being displayed on a sick exhibition of a lawbreaker.

In a city of the lawless, I am being punished. In the city of the lawless, they find me unfit to stay because the thing I did was deemed unlawful. Isn’t it an irony? These people here, in front of me, they all commit crimes of all sorts. They are thefts. They are drug dealers. They are murderer. They are rapists. But the one being tried is me, instead of all of them.

Well, I would say that I am not innocent. I never am, after all. But does that mean I should be the one standing here, with ropes around my neck ready to strangle me to death? I can name a few more people who are more deserving of my position right now, to be honest. But they decide that I am the most deserving of this death sentence. What a nice life I’ve had so far.

My life so far has been uninteresting. I'm like a side character in someone else’s life. I’m just another minor character in a tragedy play—created just to die within ten minutes of the play. It’s okay. I have been alone a lot. There’s no one for me. No one will remember me, no one will miss me. My death means nothing to the crowd here—nor to that person.

The sun is too blinding, by the way. I’m sweating a lot and feeling so uncomfortable. Let’s talk about other things. For example, about this lousy rope. It feels so ugly around my neck, I don’t like it. Also, these people are gathering to watch me dying—I wish that I can be on their side of seat instead. I don’t like being here. I feel so exposed.

Well, at least I won’t go to hell all alone.

Oh, anyway, are you wondering why am I here right now? Well, let me tell you a story, then.