"Have you ever had a...", he asked in earnest. How to tell him? No, blessed friend; Pasolini is me. If ever you should start to doubt yourself, or think low of where your life is at, spend a moment thanking fate that you did not end up like this. A look of embarrassment crossed his face, as though he asked the question merely to confirm that, bad as things were, at least I had something to hold up as a badge of honour. No need to feel sorry for me!, I pre-empted. "But did you ever have the chance?", he asked. My rehearsed answer was all good to go -- Now that you mention it, do you remember that one summer when we were young... -- but at the moment it seemed like the most profoundly idiotic thing I could have uttered. Silence is the truest reply, I realised, all the while wondering if ever there was a more pathetic soul to have inhabited this planet.
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