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“Congratulations. I wish I read more poetry.” He didn’t, actually, but he wished he wished he read more poetry, which ought to count for something.
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And also the dude was a narcissistic jerkoff of the first degree, this was now undeniable.
Jake was not happy with himself, obviously, but this had been true of his life, always, not just during the long years of professional failure but during the past two years of dizzying success, in which he had merely traded one form of dread and self-castigation for another.