*”Your son, James. He’s a good kid?”*
A good kid? A… a good kid. Why? Is he up to fucking poor? No, he sits on his ass all day smoking dope and jerking off while he plays that fucking game. If that’s our standard for goodness, no wonder this country is screwed.
*”And what about you?”*
What about me? Hey… I didn’t have the advantages that kid has. By the time I was his age, I’d already been to prison twice. I robbed banks, ran whores, smuggled dope.
*”And you consider them achievements?”*
These were the opportunities I had. At least I took ’em.
*”And where did these opportunities get you, Michael?”*
They got me right… fucking here! The end of the road… with a big house and a useless kid, and I’m stuck talking to you because no-one else gives a shit. Oh, I’m livin’ the dream, baby, and that dream is fucked… it is fucking fucked!
*”Let it all out.”*
I think I just did. I gotta’ tell you, I aint too sure this shit is working for me.
*”Ah, a sense of overwriting futility is a vital part of the process. Embrace it!”*
Whatever you say…