you know i’m never leaving this place, right? i’ve tried, i’ve tried to leave. every day is this constant struggle to get the courage to move, to put the bottle down. but i’m never leaving. this shithole is where i’ve gone to die. a better man would have come here when he was older, but not me. resigned at 30. so what does that make me in the end? did i live a good life? did i live a life as good as yours? i guess not. i guess i could have been a father, i suppose i should have traveled more. but i didn’t. i moved, once, and then moved back a year later because i couldn’t afford to drink and live in a big city. and i have to drink. so i just live in this podunk town and drink every day, and when i don’t drink i have these tremendous seizures, like god’s telling me my purpose in life is to get hammered all the time. it’s sad isn’t it? it’s a waste of a good man’s life. and yet, here i am, alive and drunk. and you’re in your billion dollar suits, flying to abu dhabi to fuck models or whatever it is you do in abu dhabi. congratulations. you’ve lived enough for both of us. you have the collective energy of mom and dad distilled into you like an aged whiskey, and i’m … i’m just drinking to catch up.