We all fit in a certain category. The bully, the charmer, the surrogate dad. The man possessed by ungovernable rage, the brain. And any of those types could be a good detective, and any one of those types could be an impotent shitheel.
↳ You see we all got what I call a life trap, a gene deep certainty that things will be different… that you’ll move to another city and meet the people that’ll be the friends for the rest of your life… that you’ll fall in love and be fulfilled… fucking fulfillment… and closure whatever the fuck those two fuckin’ empty jars to hold this shit storm. Nothing’s ever fulfilled, not until the very end. and closure. Nothing is ever over.