Oh, please.

Is there nowhere else for me?

I am sorry. Yes, yes

I am. I wish I had somewhere better to be. Only, this is the less lonely place, oh please god.

There is nothing but this, and a glass of O (indeed I renounced the pipe), so help me reader, save my soul from the world, my life, from the power of the dog. What what else is there? I've ran screaming my head off in English forests, I've whored my way round the taverns of post-war Europe, and confessed everything at the grave of my master, in Montparnasse. And so it goes, with some regret, considerable bullshit, and not a little lust, I beseech you.

Listen, please.

For where I lie, I honour.