**some creative license was used in the boardwalk scenes
Fog had fallen over San Francisco like a heavy, wool blanket. Outside my window, the erratic wind was tormenting the eucalyptus trees flanking both sides of the road.
I was driving south on the Pacific Coast Highway. I had to drive and keep on driving. If I stopped, they’d catch me. I had to stay ahead of them. I couldn’t let them get me. I wasn’t going to rot in San Quentin. I lived in prison my entire life with my father as warden.
They knew. They knew everything. I don’t know how they knew. They left a note on my dashboard congratulating me on the success of my murder. How could they have known? I didn’t leave any traces; any clues. I covered my tracks....
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