Am I fucked or not.
This is not an hour of mere, ephemeral curiosity but that of confrontation—of an existence of lying to oneself, of comfortable and nonsensical conclusions about life and my ways of going about it. Of unhealthy hours trying to convince a hundred people whose faces you don't even remember.
It matters because I believe (Or am i lying to myself again?) the fifteen minutes in front of me as I am writing this, 'could' change my life for good or otherwise.
But there's a hidden layer of events unfolding around me as I do this. Things that I would secretly put away to help you focus your sympathies on me, who is sitting with a slicker-than-Almighty and shining MacBook Pro inside one of the swanky and air-conditioned Coffee bars (in Delhi, for all those wondering about the noise in the background) sipping a foaming cup of of cold coffee and Brownie.
I am worrying if I would ever be out of this hell.
I would know in fifteen minutes now.
Its pretty hot outside.
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