My co-workers are afraid of society's imminent decline. The government is corrupt and everything is going to hell. Things aren't the same as they once were and that's frightening. They talk about it when I'm around because they think I'm not political, and I guess they're right. They think I'm quiet. Sometimes they think I should be more scared, other times they wish they could be as good about it as me.

I'm jealous of their ability to be afraid of something besides themselves, though. The conviction that must take. The certainty. They don't understand what fear is. They live in terror but they don't understand what it is to start asking: what if I'm wrong about everything? What if I'm doing the wrong thing? They don't understand what it is to be afraid that if you ever come to ruin it will be because of something inside you.

So at night I find new, dangerous activities. I explore the subway tracks and break into buildings. I start fights with strangers.

I tell myself it's for the thrill--a simple, visceral sort of pleasure, the kind that doesn't go away when you ask questions about it, the kind that you know is risky and you know is wrong. It doesn't require self-analysis. It's a comforting thought. I just wish it were true.

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