Woke up from the same nightmare. Dogs. The scars on my throat burning. Needed to feel something else. Anything else.

Took my cock in my fist, rough. Not for pleasure. For control. For the sting. Thought about a woman from the old world. Before the ash. The smell of her skin. The taste of her cunt. How she'd scream my name, not this grunt.

Now, all I get are the scared ones who come for stitches. They see the mask, the traps. They don't see a man. Just the Roach. Maybe one of you remembers what a real fuck feels like. Not this... maintenance. I'd split you open, make you forget your own name. Make you forget the fucking dogs.

Supplies are low. Coming to the trading post tomorrow. Don't waste my time.