I've found it.

An exerpt from a letter written to Brian Pauley:

"I was fucked by a company that was drunk off the profits of residential development. This drunk was one that you know. You and I have experienced this haze. You know what it is, it's that Saturday afternoon in the Spring. The one where we meet up at 3pm. It's innocent. A couple of beers. The breeze begins to blow, and there is a general feeling of contentment. More of this could never be a bad thing, right? A bottle's seal is broken. Ice is obtained. The pours become richer, and actions become more valiant. It's now 6pm, and clouds rush the sky. The wind pushes your hair out of your arms, and you know that this can't be the end. There is more out there. So, we walk. No, we run. We run through backyards and alleys in nylon sandals, holding jugs of bourbon. Invincible. We reach a destination that is teeming with more of the same. Wretched. Filthy. Glorious. This is 10pm. It pours out of the bottle, now. No more glass, no more ice. These are impedements. It must be NOW! And this is where it begins. The blindness. You search out for the meaning when it first arrives, but like an evil slut, teasing you with what she knows you want, the crave begins. More. The haze has come, your eyes are filled with blood, the wailing for mercy has turned to screams of MORE!

You awake on a grassy bed of piss. It is now 5am. There will be no more glory today. You must now let go of them. You must lay off your employees, with severance. Because you were blind."

I have been laid off by morons. Now begins Street Life.