Mobsters and cheap Whisky

I haven't written since my seeming attack on the world. I'm not going to comment on my current situation now, just affirm that I am alive. But with a bottle of cheap whisky in one hand and Bruno Coulais on the stereo it is a curious mood in this room, not completely bothered to be described by words anyways. I want to wear a suit and sunglasses, have a typical black suitcase in one hand and a cigar in the other, with my beard closely trimmed. For some reason. And I want to carry a gun, not for the wish to ever use it, not even for the comfort of the added protection. For what I care it doesn't have to be loaded even. I just want to wear a hip-holster with a gun in it. And I want to have a flask with the cheap whisky on the inner pocket of my suit-jacket, taking regular sips from it. And that's about it. I wanna look like a mobster right now, like a true Corleone or something along those lines. But I don't want the themesong from Godfather, nah, I want the remix of Purcell's "Funeral march for the death of Queen Mary II" from A Clockwork Orange to be playing from an undecidable source behind me. But I don't want a cane, or makeup, or white. Just the song. I dunno why this is, it might just be the weird mood that is my room today.