Chapter 3 of Fight Club is as hard hitting as it should be. Conversations are weird. Albeit in a offbeat sense of the word, blame my skewed vocabulary that is not dishing out adjectives smoothly enough. I think it is rust. They have a way of getting around you and poking you from places you’re terrified of. Sometimes you’re bent out of shape and continually wondering what is causing the dents.

You wake up at JFK.
I melt and swell at the moment of landing when one wheel thuds on the runway but the plane leans to one side and hangs in the decision to right itself or roll. For this moment, nothing matters. Look up into the stars and you’re gone. Not your luggage. Nothing matters. Not your bad breath. The windows are dark outside and the turbine engines roar backward. The cabin hangs at the wrong angle under the roar of the turbines, and you will never have to file another expense account claim. Receipt required for items over twenty-five dollars. You will never have to get another haircut.
A thud, and the second wheel hits the tarmac. The staccato of a hundred seatbelt buckles snapping open, and the single-use friend you almost died sitting next to says:
I hope you make your connection.
Yeah, me too.
And this is how long your moment lasted. And life goes on.
And somehow, by accident, Tyler and I met.

I have missed on a lot of things. Made them all go unnoticed. I have clang on the frames which need to be cleaned and opened for the world to see. I don’t remember the graphic details of all the accidents that were brought to me. Neither am I stuck to the bizarre sexual frivolity that was up on the walls. People dig in holes for themselves and the others. The tension builds up. I’d never be able to describe the haste of the 9 year old yelling things at that 85 year old when he would have waited 10 years.

Yet, not much has changed over time. India remains a piece of shit amidst all what goes on in Madison Square. People remain the same kind of dicks they used to be. Outlaws are all still banished but no longer afraid. And I hate my relatives.

That is about okay.