There is something about yourself that you don’t know. Something that you will deny even exists until it’s too late to do anything about it. It’s the only reason you get up in the morning, the only reason you suffer the shitty boss, the blood, the sweat and the tears. This is because you want people to know how good, attractive, generous, funny, wild and clever you really are. “Fear or revere me, but please think I’m special.” We share an addiction. We’re approval junkies. We’re all in it for the slap on the back and the gold watch. The “hip, hip, hoo-fucking-rah.” Look at the clever boy with the badge, polishing his trophy. Shine on, you crazy diamond. Cos we’re just monkeys wrapped in suits, begging for the approval of others.
The greatest enemy will hide in the last place you would ever look.
One thing I’ve learned in the last seven years: in every game and con there’s always an opponent, and there’s always a victim. The trick is to know when you’re the latter, so you can become the former.
Oh, I know you’re still there… cause I can feel you dying. I can hear you tapping me… for a little nutrition. Now who’s looking for a fix? It gets a little tight in here, do you? Well, you’re not wrong… cause the walls are moving in. No food here. Not today, sunshine. My eyes are open and the restaurant’s closed. Jog on. Slide off. Find someone else to fill your pipe. Someone, who won’t see you coming… or know, when you’re there.
The longer you listen, the sweeter the pitch.
Now I’ve got to spend the next two minutes, shaking… and sweating… like a crack whore looking for a fix… Should have taken the stairs… cause it’s getting very… very tight in here.
Gradually they thought they’d found a formula to the con. A formula to win the ultimate win.
