“...I’ve had reason to believe there’s something after this, but I’m in no rush to find out what it is. I love life. Not as much as I did as a kid, of course, but how can you after Christmas and Halloween start to lose their buzz, and booze tastes a little too familiar, as does death, and sex isn’t such a new experience either? You’d have to have been a pretty miserable kid to be happier as an adult, and that I wasn’t. I was a carefree little shit who searched for duck nests and caught frogs and sat up in my tree house in the summer thanking God for my youth. I always appreciated youth. I remember being eighteen and driving around Rhode Island with my girlfriend Grace and a few of the guys, drinking beer and listening to the radio, and I pulled the car over and looked at everyone and I said, “Do you realize how great this is? We’re young!” And I felt it. And I still ache from it.
From The Comedy Writer, a novel by Peter Farrelly
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