Rose and I are playing a new game called competitive depression… She’s got the jump on me in not showering but I’m pretty sure I’m beating her in not wearing trousers around the house. Plus I’ve eaten more chocolate biscuits.
Her flashbacks are impressive, granted, but I’ve a more glamorous style of self destruction. I’m looking at my life and playing dice with the pieces – what to burn down? Snake eyes wins the house.
Tired of feeling like a failure, even when I win.
“Now, Montag, you’re a burden. And fire will lift you off my shoulders, clean, quick, sure; nothing to rot later. Antibiotic, aesthetic, practical.”
“It was a pleasure to burn…”