People do it everyday, they talk to themselves... they see themselves as they'd like to be, they don't have the courage you have, to just run with it. Like so many others, I had become a slave to the Ikea nesting instinct. Strangers with this kind of honesty make me go a big rubbery one. I had it all. I had a stereo that was very decent, a wardrobe that was getting very respectable. I was close to being complete. Well, I'm still here. But I don't know for how long. That's as much certainty as anyone can give me. But I've got some good news: I no longer have any fear of death. But... I am in a pretty lonely place. No one will have sex with me. I'm so close to the end, and all I want is to get laid for the last time. I have pornographic movies in my apartment, and lubricants, and amyl nitrite... Why would anyone want this shit job? And I used to be such a nice guy. Welcome to Fight Club. The first rule of Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club.