My parents got divorced when I was five years old and I saw my father about three times a year after that. When he found out that he had cancer he decided to bring me here and gives me this big pink seashell and says to me, “Son, the answers are inside of this.” And I’m all like “What?” And then I realize that the shell is empty. There’s no point to any of this, it’s all a random lottery of meaningless tragedy in a series of near escapes. So I take pleasure in the details, a Quarter Pounder with cheese, those are pretty good. The sky about ten minutes before it rains. A moment when your laughter becomes a cackle and I sit back and I smoke my Camel Straights and I ride my own melt.
Reality Bites, Troy Dyer