First, it's a Saturday-night thing, and you feel cool, like a gangster or a rock star. It's just something to kill the boredom, you know? They call it a chippie, a small habit. It feels so good, you start doing it on Tuesdays, then Thursdays. Then it's got you. Every wise-ass punk on the block says it won't happen to them, but it does.
Either you think—or else others have to think for you and take power from you, pervert and discipline your natural tastes, civilize and sterilize you.
It's an addiction. And you have to kill the addict to kill the addiction.
Love love, but do no love the man, of you'll be in his power.
— You're a fucking maniac. A caffeine maniac.
— You're drinking coffee, ain't you? Yeah. So?
— So maybe you should try to quit?
— I ain't no fucking quitter.
— Yeah, Alex could have a vehicle as well, but he decided to burn all of his money.
— And why did you do that?
— l don't need money. Makes people cautious.
— Come on, Alex. You gotta be a little cautious. l mean, that book of yours is cool and everything, but you can't depend entirely on leaves and berries.
— l don't know if you want to depend on much more than that.
Finding someone you can't imagine a life without, it's hard.
I need a friend more than I need space.
Our dependency makes slaves out of us, especially if this dependency is a dependency of our self-esteem. If you need encouragement, praise, pats on the back from everybody, then you make everybody your judge.
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