“Got a hole inside of me.”
today he has a lollipop in his mouth in favor of his usual cigarette, they always say it helps you wean off the stuff. it was always the perpetual “they” who says these things, they who know better, they who knows best. they who dictate and propose but seldom hold themselves accountable of anything. if he weren’t too broke to buy himself another carton, he’d blow smoke in their faces and block out whatever nonsense they had to say about the repercussions of secondhand smoke.
“my friend, technically speaking, all of us got holes.” he’s grinning because he’s an immature prick and knows it, but that’s his whole schtick. he’s the peter pan that never grew up, and everyone thinks its charming (in a pathetic way, he assumes.) “but if you aren’t talking about the holes i’m thinking of, then i suppose i can relate. i get it. the hole is there and it sucks because what used to be there isn’t there anymore, right? and you’re hurting because you’re thinking you’re gonna spend the rest of your life looking for the thing you’ve lost and it’ll be nothing but a void eating you alive, right? holes can be filled. with passions or love or even bad habits.” he wishes he had a cig to further prove his point. really, he needs one to take the edge off but he’d like to act like a noble person and say its to be an example. he’s both an immature and a hypocritical prick at this point, because as much as he hates others for harping on about knowing everything, his bouts of wisdom are as common sense as they come.
“so tell me, what caused that hole inside of you, anyway? or did i just stick my foot in my mouth by asking that?
