“If it were me, do you know what I’d do? I’d cut off that piece of flesh, let out that bowl of blood, then take an axe to the deformed bones underneath and smash them. I’m not the person gazing into the abyss. I am the abyss.”
[ is there like, anything better to do when everything is Terrible and people are bleeding and crying in dick shops and all your living friends are locked in for curfew than drink? there is not.
at some point, there's a gyd mass text sent out that's just a picture of the penthouse suite in the fancy hotel in pork city, with a table laid out with booze, along with an invite. ]
Nightingale said it's the last Thursday to get a major amount of points, so likely the last Thursday we'll have like this. In lieu of stewing over it, we can celebrate how close we are to the end - or just forget. Wear something comfortable, if you'd like. Door's open.
❝ Now or never! 'To be or not to be!'"—Oblomov raised himself from his chair a little, but failing to find his slippers with his feet at once, sat down again. ❞