“Our apartment is a hotel for losers. A pit stop before the next ride.”

“I remember his eyes. They are just like mine. Every time I look in the mirror I see him. I try not to look at my self too much.”

“We look for pretty girls we can say bad things to. No one shows up.”

“No one answers. It feels as if I’m not there, as if I’m as invisible as the nicotine they’re inhaling.”

“Judging by the photograph it seemed like I hadn’t been there at all. As if it was my camera that had been on holiday, and not me.”

“He’s always complaining about the fucking recession and how the government is working against people like him. He calls himself working class, which I think is a bit ironic since he doesn’t work.”

“He calls himself working class, which I think is a bit ironic since he doesn’t work.”