Something similar happened to me in 1990, when I first arrived in the USA and didn't know better to not fall asleep on a New York City subway car on an early Sunday morning. I woke up with a Hispanic crackhead pointing a gun into my chest demanding money. Unfortunately for him it wasn't the first time I'd had guns pointed at me so that wasn't happening. It became the second time I tried to kill someone.
I am a dissident journalist, whose work has been published in dozens of daily newspapers, magazines, and journals in English, German, and Swedish, under my own name and many pseudonyms. While living in internal exile in New York, where I am whitelisted, I maintain NSU/The Wyatt Earp Journalism Bureau and some eight other blogs (some are distinctive but occasional venues, while others are mirrors), and also write for stout-hearted men such as Peter Brimelow and Jared Taylor. Please hit the “Donate” button on your way out. Thanks, in advance.
Follow my tweets at @NicholasStix.
1 comment:
Something similar happened to me in 1990, when I first arrived in the USA and didn't know better to not fall asleep on a New York City subway car on an early Sunday morning. I woke up with a Hispanic crackhead pointing a gun into my chest demanding money. Unfortunately for him it wasn't the first time I'd had guns pointed at me so that wasn't happening. It became the second time I tried to kill someone.
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