"How? It's like 1 o'clock. And you're at work."
- I'm drinking because he's dead.
- Stop using him as a crutch.
- I'm not.
- You are. You always do.
- Don't talk about him. You didn't know him.
- Does that matter?
"Mike brought a bottle of Jagermeister in for the Christmas party. We drank it an hour."
"You like it."
- I fucking hate it and want you to stop.
- Fuck you.
"How was the party?"
"Not bad. The food was good."
"When are you getting out?"
"Well, the Jager is gone....so hopefully soon."
"You are a mess."
- Are you ever going to change?
- Who knows. Not if people keep dying on me.
- So you'd rather die yourself?
- Sometimes. Not that I want to. I like living. But it's too much sometimes.
- So you drink yourself retarded.
- I think too much when I'm sober. I can't handle it.
- You're being a pussy.
- There's so many possibilities. There might be a God. Ryer might be in heaven, he might be in hell, or he might be in another universe where the journey continues, and it's as miserable as this planet is. God might only exist in this universe but not in the others, or he might exist outside of space and time. I might die in four seconds and I don't even know it. I could get another phone call where they tell me you're dead, or someone else who I've let get close to me. I can't handle it. In four billion years, the sun is going to inflate and consume the Earth before it dies. None of what we say here matters.
- Life isn't miserable.
- You haven't lived. It's fucking miserable.
- You see what you want to see. And I'm not as naive as you think I am.
- I know that.
- And you're getting out of hand with the drinking.
- I've always been like that. You just didn't know me. It was worse once.
- I don't like this.
- You shouldn't.
"Well. Call me when you're out. I'll be around later."