you have to stay alive. you're going to be such a beautiful middle aged freak. young freaks will see you in the street and know that things can be okay.
hey. good luck with everything, okay? [cutting the rope connecting your boat to the dock] just good luck. [starts pushing your boat further towards the stream] just have a good luck out there
there’s a new potent drug called “the bed” out on the streets. just one hit of the damn thing and you’re passed out cold, tucked in, multiple blankies, honking and shooing for hours. scary stuff.
Reading a book about slavery in the middle-ages, and as the author sorts through different source materials from different eras, I am starting to understand why so many completely fantastical accounts of "faraway lands" went without as much as a shrug. The world is such a weird place that you can either refuse to believe any of it or just go "yeah that might as well happen" and carry on with your day.
There was this 10th century arab traveller who wrote into an account that the fine trade furs come from a land where the night only lasts one hour in the summer and the sun doesn't rise at all in the winter, people use dogs to travel, and where children have white hair. I don't think I'd believe something like that either if I didn't live here.