Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a fraternity. Choose a family. Choose waking up with a fucking headache every friday. Choose cheap dirty black jackets. Choose Oblomov, J.P. Chenet, White Widow and Lucky Strike. Choose Blood Brothers, The Ramones, These Arms of Snakes and God knows what kind of mind-numbing shit Maarten's going to play next. Choose finding yourself in a puddle of vomit wondering why the hell you opened up another bottle of Absinth. Choose a balance of -998,14 on the first of the month. Choose spending your friday evenings at the same place you left friday morning promising yourself you would never go there again. Choose waking up next to a disgrace of a human being, wondering who, what, when and fuck why? Choose realising after seven years that the best years of your life are gone, and you wouldn't want it any other way.
