Mona: “There’s this girl who’s following me around. I’ve been trying to lose her.”
Elaine: “Black hair and amazing eye shadow, right? You can’t lose her, Mona. But you’re okay if we stick together. Anyone who’s with me she sort of ignores.

Far as I can see, we mostly exist as *ideas* in each other’s heads. The way *you* see me. The way my *boss* sees me. The way the *waitress* at Lindy’s sees me. Skins on an *onion*, right? Except that’s all there is to us. The *skins*.

Happy Families. What’s that all about, eh? A bloody busted flush is what it is. You surround yourself with other people so the night doesn’t seem quite so dark. Shout down the sound of the wind with arguments about whose turn it is to wash the dishes. Best not to kid yourself. Best not to give any hostages to fortune. You’re on your own in the end. Always. Where else would you want to be?

So what I’m getting at is this. Okay, maybe it’s cold in the grave. Maybe you come out of the light and you think, Fuck your mother, this is bad. This is worse than anything I would have guessed. But the trick is to clench your teeth, get a running start and dive.

When I hit that other country, from whose bourne no traveller back-pedals, I’m going to be moving fast. I’m gambling that the first ten seconds or so will be the worst.

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