Hate week will soon be upon us. Everyone is preparing for it. The hate week song has been written, Parsons and the rest of the ignorant fools of our society have been busy decorating the city, and posters of a Eurasian soldier has been placed up on every blank wall; his gun pointing at you indefinitely. Even the proles were excited.
Recently I have lost the need for my gin. I used to drink it all hours of the day, to keep myself up and running; away from the depression that used to eat at me inside. And my ankle has healed. The only trace of my ulcer is a brown patch. The coughing fits in the morning, gone. Life at the moment is somewhat bearable.
What scares me is the thought that it could end.
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