“Well, what goes up, must come down, and down, and down. Everyone looks ill at the end of the night. All lost the power of speech, desperately avoiding eye contact. Your new soulmate that you’ve been talking codshit to for the past five hours about the story of creation, or the fourth “Star Wars” film, is now a complete stranger. You can’t even look him in the eye. All you’ve got in common now is paranoia. It’s coming through the walls, man. The children of ecstasy aren’t safe anymore. We’re no longer together as one, but seperate mental patients that yearn to be ejected out of this poisoned atmosphere to a warm bed and a friendly therapist. Reality’s on her way. Where am I? What have I done? Was it worth it? And by the way, what happened again? All we have to look forward to is unconsciousness, but you can never sleep.”
—JIP, (Human Traffic)
