Good evening, world. This isn't really any good.
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There was something in the air during those cold winter months that told us things were going great, even if everything at that given moment went to shit. It was so easy to slide backwards into that idealistic muck; our thoughts were few and our heads were full of fake love, drugs, and peace of mind. Change took place at an amazingly ridiculous pace, and we could barely stumble along fast enough to keep up.
We would screw each other over for nothing, though, despite the feel-good toxins permeating the very air we breathed. Our only real friend was the guy with the next light, the next good Samaritan who would feed us pills or give us a ride to where we needed to get. We talked about loyalty like it meant a damned thing, and we knew it didn't. Lying to your closest friends with a handshake and a smile was the order of the day.
Looking back, I really think the only truth to be found in all of that terrible madness was this: we were alone. We always were; our kind came into this world alone and I know now in a way that is both terribly final and terribly true that we will remain so until the drawing of our last breaths. A man's character is his fate. You can't fight fate.
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