“I just can’t do this anymore.”
“What do you mean?” He muttered, taking a hit from his freshly lit joint.
“This. All of this. What are we doing with our lives? We just sit here. You smoke and I watch shitty movies. This is our fucking life. We don’t have any fucking lives. We are uncultured, illitirate fucks. We’re fucking 24 with a high school education. We grew up wanting to be successful but look at us. On a fucking couch in the middle of fucking harlem. We live on welfare, paycheck by paycheck. We had the world in our hands once but we threw it away for some fucking pot”
The living room filled with the sound of Pulp Fiction on the television but silence lingered between the two.
“I can’t do this, I’m leaving.”