The only people you seem to trust are women. Because they're different, aren't they; they aren't brash, combative, machismo-driven trash who want nothing more out of life than power and glory and blood. They're soft and sweet and caring. Reliable. Strong, without resorting to hatred and violence. And you're drawn to that, because much as you try to be an upstanding member of society who does his part to give back, on the inside, you know you're no better than the rest of them. A punk. Full of rage and hungry for a fight. You do everything you can to channel it into positive outlets, finding little ways to suppress your aggression when you're tied down and surrounding yourself with young men who want to do good, not yet jaded, and with women whom you believe can love you for the vile creature you are - or for the man you want to be.