When I was 21, I killed someone. What I did was wrong, and at the time I couldn’t explain why I was capable of such hate and extreme violence.
So I remained silent, not because I was being “tough,” but because it seemed immoral to point my finger at other people.
I had heard that the victim sold child porn, saw red, and decided that he deserved to be robbed and to die. That is what I proposed to my brother when, one day, he came to me with a plan to rob a bank. We were poor college students at the time.
