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That Fucking Prick John Constantine

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Bastard. That fucking bastard prick, letting Chas shout at him like that and then pissing off. Leaving behind his fucking money and his fucking little note. What the fuck's that, after twenty-five years of friendship? That's not on.

Good riddance then. Chas can do without John Constantine. No more being errand boy and taxi service, no more of Renee's remarks and aggro either.

Better off without him, without this fucking shit, without this crying. Crying his fucking eyes out, forehead resting on the steering wheel and the note smashed in his hand, and he never even got to say goodbye.