Outside I wrestled a cigarette from its cellophane and papered foil. The taste of industrial aged death. Black lung that was real. That I could trust . . . I will die and it will hurt. I am free as long as I hold fast to my own abilities, to my own self. No one could really take anything from me, good or bad. I walked off coughing in the cold. I wonder if she was sad? Probably nothing to her just some weirdo. A weirdo is harmless . . . I just want to be harmless. I don’t want to hurt anything, I shouldn’t have to hurt to exist. My feet were heavy, a dramatic cliche, it made me laugh, the absurdly predictable plight of my pathetic human condition was funny.
Four blocks only four. It had only been two minutes . . . she was probably still back there, probably moved on to some other fellow. A nice well adjusted guy with his own well defined goals and motivations his own years of honed skills and values, someone good for her someone she deserved. Nothing romantic just someone better than me. There is always someone better; life is a contest and I was better off doing color commentary on the whole fucking thing.
part 1 and 3 can be found at variation on a common theme.