Every time I make it sober to the end of the day, I feel like I’ve tricked myself. My fate – my destiny – is to end each evening a slurring mess, a slurring mess happy to fuck the woman I no longer love, a slurring mess who hates the monotony and patterns of his current life but has found a way to make it bearable, just, barely bearable, for a few hours.
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Triumph Of The Now 
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