Troy: There's no point to any of this. It's all just a... a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. So I take pleasure in the details. You know... a quarter-pounder with cheese, those are good, the sky about ten minutes before it starts to rain, the moment where your laughter becomes a cackle... and I sit back and I smoke my Camel Straights and I ride my own melt.
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my version
There may be or may not be a point to any of this. Maybe it's indeed all just a random lottery of meaningless tragedy or a series of near escapes ... or maybe good or bad things happen because they have to, to get us to where we want to go, by choice of course ... but chance and luck and fate and destiny and soul mates, those are nice concepts to believe also. even if realistically speaking, they may be just concepts. that fuckin' cliche, it's not the destination, but the journey itself, the getting there and all things encountered therein that's most important -- maybe quite shitty to admit that it 's true, but it is essentially true most of the time. So I also take pleasure in the details. You know ... a bowl of fruit loops with fresh milk, those are good, lying on the beach looking up at the starlit sky, the moment when you first realize the first intimations of love -- stolen glances and secret smiles, good friends, cold booze, cigs and great music after a hard day's work, quiet nights, cool and serene with just the soft lapping of the ocean waves and the warm glow of a candle lit room lulling you to sleep, the full moon, the bright yellow of the sun, a bird taking refuge on your windowsill during a lazy rainy sunday afternoon, a surprise phone call from your bestfriend, the pain and excitement of not being sure about something, taking a risk, taking that great leap into the unknown, the smell and sound and words and visions of FREEDOM, immersing yourself in a really good book, rocking till your ears bleed, bob marley assuring you that everything is indeed going to be alright, laughing so hard and so loud people stop and stare at you and think you're one crazy loose woman ... and I sit back and I smoke whatever there is to smoke (except menthol please) ... and I dance to my own groove.
