I’m sitting back in my flat, smoking dope, feeling sorry for myself. Getting even more depressed through knowing exactly what I’ll do tae handle this setback: get wrecked, then sober up and fling masel into my graft. Repeat till death. This is the trap. There isnae a later. There’s no fucking place in the sun. There is no cunting future. There is only now. And it’s shite and getting worse.
