The longer the oldish young man spoke, the more Paulo felt like trying it at least one time, just this once. The figure before him knew this.
“The next day, there’s no hangover, just the feeling that you’ve been to paradise and come back to this crappy world. Then you go to work and it hits you that everything is a lie, people trying to justify their lives, look important, creating obstacles because it gives them a sense of authority, of power. You can’t stand all the hypocrisy anymore and decide to go back to paradise, but paradise is expensive, the gate is narrow. Whoever visits discovers that life is beautiful, that the sun can in fact be divided into rays, it’s no longer that boring, round ball you can’t even look at. The next day, you go back to work on a train full of people with empty looks, emptier than the looks of the people here. Everybody thinking about getting home, making dinner, turning on the television, escaping reality—man, reality is this white powder, not the television!”
The longer the oldish young man spoke, the more Paulo felt like trying it at least one time, just this once. The figure before him knew this.
