Edge

Would we despise ourselves if we knew how we’d turn out? If we knew we’d lose our edge?

What edge?

When we were young we’d go round and set fire to things. And break things. And when we were young PhD students … We were just pleased too be off the streets. Off the fucking dole. We’d never thought of careers. We thought we’d be dead by thirty …

So what happened?

Maybe we’d just get worn out. Our blood thinned. All that whoring for work wasn’t good for us.

But we’re safe now, right? We’re secure. We’ve got jobs.

We can do better than this. We could be better people. Or more interesting people. Or wilder people.