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"Six am, and there's a needle in your arm. You can't remember anymore if it's injecting or drawing. Every morning, long, winding tubes pull hot strings of crimson from my arms like the wiring rigging up a timed paraffin explosive. It never seems to work, whatever it’s for. "
(A few months post-book-canon, the narrator comes to the end of his stay in a psychiatric hospital, with Tyler Durden nowhere to be found.)
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SO GOOD