James Frey: My Friend Leonard

Cassius and I go home back to our little house in the hills. I spend my time in front of a computer, he spends his time in front of the TV. We go for walks three times a day, once in the morning, once in the afternoon, once at night. I eat most of my meals at home, I rarely go out with my friends. I read for three or four hours before I go to bed.
I have a good life, a simple life, for the first time in my life I'm happy and secure and stable. My Fury, which has shaped most of the twenty-five years of my life has faded without the fuel of drugs and alcohol, has faded as I have learned not to hate myself. Part of me is humbled by this life, this beautiful life. Another part of me feels incredibly fortunate. Part of me is waiting to fuck it up somehow, waiting to make some dumbass decision that destroys it, waiting for it to end. Part of me feels like it isn't complete without Lilly, this is what she and I dreamed of having together. Sometimes I pretend she's here with me. I talk to an empty chair across the table, I wrap my arms around nothingness and tell her I love her. I tell her I'll be home in a little while when I leave, I tell her I'm tired and want to go to bed at the end of a long day. Even without her I have all I need, my little house, my big funny dog, my legally earned money, my time, my own time, my own precious time to do whatever I want to do. I have simple things, a simple life, all I need.

p269

On my first day in jail, a three hundred pound man named Porterhouse hit me in the back of the head with a metal tray.

(első mondat)