They call me "The Stinkorr"

Repetition. Formaldehyde. Always waiting. Crying a god damn storm just because I can. That damn smell I can never seem to wash off. You know how it is. Day in, day out. This is why I hate America. I've been to hell and back just to see my daughter's face, understand? I've got nothing left. Nothing to live for. Nothing to die for. Just a hole in my heart and a gash in my head. Now, I can tell just by the way you're dressed that you're not here for a fun time. Listen here, pal. You're gonna get exactly what you want if you keep spending your time with people like me. I suppose I might need a bit of an introduction. They call me "The Stinkorr". I know, I know. Shitty name. But it's just what I'm known as. Now, the thing about-- Hey, where are you going? I only just started. You still got another three hours-- No? Ah, perhaps it's better that way. Maybe the coward's way out ain't so bad after all. Perhaps- ah, no. Never mind. I'll see you in another life, friend.