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Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career.
Choose a family, Choose a fucking big television,
Choose washing machines, cars, compact discplayers, and electrical tin openers.
Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance.
Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments.
Choose a starter home. Choose your friends.
Choose leisure wear and matching luggage.
Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics.
Choose DIY and wondering who you are on a Sunday morning.
Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing sprit-crushing game shows, stuffing
fucking junk food into your mouth.
Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing you last in a miserable home,
nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself.
Choose your future.
Choose life.
But who would I want to do a thing like that?
I chose not to choose life: I chose something else. And the reasons?
There are no reasons. Who need reasons when you've got heroin?
So why did I do it? I could offer a million
answers, all false. The truth is that I'm a bad
person, but that's going to change, I'm going to
change. This is the last of this sort of thing. I'm
cleaning up and I'm moving on, going straight and choosing life. I'm
looking forward to it already.
I'm going to be just like you: the job, the family,
the fucking big television, the washing machine, the
car, the compact disc and electrical tin opener, good
health, low cholesterol, dental insurance, mortgage,
starter home, leisurewear, luggage, three-piece
suite, DIY, game shows, junk food, children, walks in the park, nine to
five, good at golf, washing the car,
choice of sweaters, family Christmas, indexed
pension, tax exemption, clearing the gutters, getting by, looking ahead,
to the day you die. |
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