The job, the family, the fucking big television. Now I'm cleaning up and I'm moving on, going straight and choosing life. But, that's gonna change - I'm going to change. So why did I do it? I could offer a million answers - all false. And Spud, well okay, I felt sorry for Spud - he never hurt anybody. And Sick Boy, well he'd done the same to me, if he'd only thought of it first. But Begbie, I couldn't give a shit about him. But let's face it, I ripped them off - my so called mates. Or we'd outgrown each other, you know, that sort of thing. It wasn't a big deal, just a minor betrayal. Now I've justified this to myself in all sorts of ways. Who needs reasons when you've got heroin? But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. Choose a three-piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers.
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