Series of sleep talking, monologues of anxiety, self-reflection (or delusion?), almost a record of psychoanalysis, of a writer, a gambler, a fetishist and an addict. How many roles do you have, aware or unaware? Fill yourself with drinks, nicotine and obsession, alienate yourself from the world, the world which you despise, it's almost a self-indulgence, or you are just too clairvoyant.
We are the creatures of gravity, falling (我沒有因為漫長的下墜而進化至長出翅膀) and/or inept (如果沒法前行, 就到埗了麼?) This is the same old story (that same old rusty boring stinking shitty story, of you and me, hoping hopelessy).