You still secretly believe that there is an element of magic to this world? It’s all just soulless molecules bouncing against each other randomly.
You are going to live a good and long life filled with great and terrible moments that you cannot even imagine yet!
You don’t get to choose if you get hurt in this world, old man, but you do have some say in who hurts you. I like my choices.
Here’s what’s not beautiful about it: from here, you can’t see the rust or the cracked paint or whatever, but you can tell what the place really is. You see how fake it all is. It’s not even hard enough to be made out of plastic. It’s a paper town. I mean look at it, Q: look at all those cul-de-sacs, those streets that turn in on themselves, all the houses that were built to fall apart. All those paper people living in their paper houses, burning the future to stay warm. All the paper kids drinking beer some bum bought for them at the paper convenience store. Everyone demented with the mania of owning things. All the things paper-thin and paper-frail. And all the people, too. I’ve lived here for eighteen years and I have never once in my life come across anyone who cares about anything that matters.