Prosaic...

There is something about yourself that you don't know. Something that you will deny even exists; until it’s too late, to do anything about it.

It's the only reason you get up in the morning. The only reason you suffer the shitty boss; the blood, the sweat and the tears. This is because you want people to know how: good, attractive, generous, funny, wild and clever; you really are. Fear or revere me, but please - think I'm special.

We share an addiction. We're approval junkies. We're all in it for the slap; on the back, and the gold watch. The hip, hip, hoo-fuckin-rah. Look at the clever boy with the badge; polishing his trophy. Shine on you crazy diamond. We're just monkeys, wrapped in suits begging for the approval of others. If we knew this, we wouldn't do this. Someone is hiding it from us and...

If you had a second chance you would ask - why?