«One of those fucking awful black days when nothing is pleasing and everything that happens is an excuse for anger, an outlet for emotions stockpiled, an arsenal, an armour. These are the days, when I hate the world, hate the rich, hate the happy, hate the complacent, the TV watchers, beer drinkers, the satisfied ones, because I know I can be all of those little hateful things, and then I hate myself for realising that. (...)»
The Cribs.
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