For a while, in recent western tradition, it was quasi-customary to affix the "Virtue Rewarded" subtitle to a wide range of literature, promising the reader that justice would ensue by the end of the book. These words convey a dead meaning, long since abandoned by society.

It's about being an isolated, paranoid spectacle of a fuck up, resentful toward the rest of humanity in general. 

It's about watching the neighborhood kids play outside your bedroom window, hating them because you're too proud to reach out to them, so you tell yourself that they're the problem, when in reality, the only thing stopping you from being happy is yourself. 

It's about finding out that your sleeping bag is, in fact, host to a nest of deadly spiders. A freshly outdated iPhone. Dresden. Chernobyl.  Y2K.  Razor blades in you apples.

Oxford_House