I told him, friends don’t let friends go to jail. I told him how I butchered my parents. I wanted approval from my best friend. He lied to me. Lied when he said it was our secret.
He must have been disappointed when he heard that there was no evidence to suggest I committed these crimes, besides his word. They found prints all right.
Prints on the knives used to chop my parents up, on the sliding door of the bathtub, and on the door knob, both coming in and going out of the house.
All his prints. All from the day before when I asked him to do some innocuous tasks. But, I stand by my rule. Friends don’t let friends go to jail.
Too bad he’s not my friend anymore.