The Beach

by Alex Garland

I lit my second cigarette of the day, not wanting it, just feeling it was the right thing to do.

I want to do something different, and everybody wants to do something different. But we all do the same thing.

the way to get things done was to go ahead and do them.

Less banal, or maybe more so, was that I wanted to witness extreme poverty. I saw it as a necessary experience for anyone who wanted to appear worldly and interesting.

Being in a riot was something I pursued with a truly obsessive zeal, along with being tear-gassed and hearing gunshots fired in anger.

Time limits on everything you enjoy. Sitting on a beautiful beach, waiting for a fucking time limit to come up. Affecting the way you look at the sand and the sunsets and the way you taste the rice.

I got my thousand-yard stare. I carry a lot of scars. I like the way that sounds.