In Memory of Little John

On this day, November 11, 2000, My good friend and troubled soul. John Frank Foshee put a 9mm bullet through his head, spreading what was left of a brillent brain all over his room, and leaking about 3 quarts of blood on his bed.

Born in 1962 and with promise of a superior intellgence he used his mental abilites to drink massive quanties of Alcohol and end what ever chance he had at a career.

John had many friends, and we all tried to help. But John believed he was meant for a higher purpose and everyone was jealious of his talents. After getting him a job where he could put those talents to work, he failed. He failed because of a lack of training and his inability to listen.

He stopped beliving his own shit and quit

I miss you bro you should have stuck around. Look at everything you missed since you joined the universe. I stopped at your mom's grave last year and I have not heard from your brother. There is nothing to show you ever existed, and memories are fading. It is as though your name was Winston Smith