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I drank fancy whiskey and cheap beer, and I felt like shit. No more or no less like shit than usual, but I felt like shit, and this was just how I had come to understand things. I drank the fancy whiskey out of one of those portly sorts of wine glasses, the kind you'd serve a red wine in, and it didn't taste very good at all. I'd added a few drops of water but no ice to it, and I was fighting the taste with cigarette after cigarette of London Export, the fancy kind of rolling tobacco that comes in brown bags and costs $12 no matter where you are in the country. I didn't mind the price, since $12 was average for a pack of cigarettes in Chicago, with which you paid the same for far less quantity and quality, but for some reason these too tasted rather unsavory. I realized then that really nothing was going to taste very well today, and this was simply the work of that little dark spot. This small dark spot, you see, had floated up into the atmosphere out of our heads. It built itself on cruel, fearful, and misanthropic thoughts that drifted away because we had no other place they could go, but these thoughts still held anger, sorrow, and malaise. I realized this great big dark spot was threatening to swallow me whole, that I had perhaps been its greatest contributor and was now its greatest progenitor.
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I thought about the dark spot, and I thought maybe it wouldn't be so bad to just be absorbed totally by it - if every day was overcast, well; I had slept through the sun for this long, so it wouldn't really mean much to me at all if it just went away. I thought of all the people who had spent so much time just lazing around growing tan in the sun, and I laughed to myself at how absurd and self-absorbed they would seem, as though their true vain nature would be revealed. But I thought of all the children who would never see the sun again, and in spite of my hate for them, I could not wish that kind of absence on them, that they would simply be deprived of this wondrous miracle of the sun that every other generation had simply fucking floundered about in, wasting away lazily. I thought that, well, I may be cruel, but I'm not unfair, so I dismissed the thought, and got to fooling myself into thinking there was some way of removing this dark spot instead, so we might all be bathed in light again.
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But on these overcast days, it's not easy to believe in other humans, and I knew neither myself or a friend could do it alone, nor could anybody else I knew, and I came back to thinking that it may as well swallow up the whole world now, because humans could never simply co-operate enough to dispel it forever. So I had decided, well, the concerns of humanity at large were really none of my business anyways, and I went to the grocery store to buy some beer to drown away the useless thoughts I was having. I made a joking remark about the suffering productivity of the store at the fault of the new management, and the cashier sneered at me rudely. I thought about how nice it would be if she was to die that very day, but as I left I thought it'd probably be nicer if nobody died at all. I went home and drank the beer in my room, and I talked to my friends over the internet about this dark spot I had seen brewing in the sky, and most seemed receptive but not particularly concerned. As the night drew out into dullness once more, I blew smoke from my mouth, and blew haughty, cruel and misdirected thoughts from my head, as I thought "I'd really like to see a spider or a roach about now, because I want to kill something." I drank the fancy whiskey and cheap beer while I smoked another cigarette, and they tasted just fine.