荒島

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family.

Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments.

Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself.

Choose your future. Choose life...

But why would I want to do a thing like that?

I chose not to choose life: I chose something else.

And the reasons? There are no reasons.

Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?

Welsh, I. (1993). Trainspotting. London: Secker & Warburg.