The faster it ran away from me. And I found myself reasoning that perhaps one more beer would unlock the doors of perception.
It revealed a cruelty that really made one wonder if the universe was such a good idea after all.
Of course, having information to use is one thing. Knowing what it means and how to use it is a different story.
...my conscience has the same hard reality as a unicorn.
Nothing else loves me, or ever will. Not even - especially - me. I know what I am and that is not a thing to love.
For my part, my interest in Paris had faded away completely long ago when I learned that it was in France.
It’s an odd term, 'girlfriend,' particularly for grown persons. And in practice it provides an even odder concept. Generally speaking, in adults it described a woman, not a girl, who was willing to provide sex, not friendship. In fact, from what I had observed it was quite possible for one to actively dislike one’s girlfriend, although of course true hatred is reserved for marriage.
But of course, there's no rest for the wicked, which I certainly am; as I said, no rest for the wicked.
Our universe is ruled by random whim, inhabited by people who laugh at logic.
This was just no fun. I wanted my brain back.
And as we should all know by now, anytime you predict failure you have an excellent chance of being right.
Why bother inflicting enormous pain on yourself when sooner or later Life would certainly get around to doing it for you?
I nodded with genuine synthetic sympathy.
In that tremendous flash of freedom, on my way to do The Thing for the first time, sanctioned by Almighty Harry, I receded, faded back into the scenery of my own dark self, whole the other me crouched and growled. I would do It at last, do what I had been created to do. And I did.
The whole point of wearing a disguise was to be seen wearing her.
Me, feeling. What a concept.
I enjoyed watching good-looking idiots looking at each other. A great spectator sport.
A reasonable being might think that he and I could find some common ground; have a cup of coffee and compare our Passengers, exchange trade talk and chitchat about dismemberment techniques. But no: Doakes wanted me dead. And I found it difficult to share his point of view.
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