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It
used
to
be
enough
that
when
I
came
home
angry
and
knowing
that
my
life
was
n't
toeing
my
five-year
plan
,
I
could
clean
my
condominium
or
detail
my
car
.
Someday
I
'd
be
dead
without
a
scar
and
there
would
be
a
really
nice
condo
and
car
.
Really
,
really
nice
,
until
the
dust
settled
or
the
next
owner
.
Nothing
is
static
.
Even
the
Mona
Lira
is
falling
apart
.
Since
fight
club
,
I
can
wiggle
half
the
teeth
in
my
jaw
.
Maybe
self-improvement
is
n't
the
answer
.
Tyler
never
knew
his
father
.
Maybe
self-destruction
is
the
answer
.
Tyler
and
I
still
go
to
fight
club
,
together
.
Fight
club
is
in
the
basement
of
a
bar
,
now
,
after
the
bar
closes
on
Saturday
night
,
and
every
week
you
go
and
there
's
more
guys
there
.
Tyler
gets
under
the
one
light
in
the
middle
of
the
black
concrete
basement
and
he
can
see
that
light
flickering
back
out
of
the
dark
in
a
hundred
pairs
of
eyes
.
First
thing
Tyler
yells
is
,
"
The
first
rule
about
fight
club
is
you
do
n't
talk
about
fight
club
.
"
The
second
rule
about
fight
club
,
"
Tyler
yells
,
"
is
you
do
n't
talk
about
fight
club
.
"
Me
,
I
knew
my
dad
for
about
six
years
,
but
I
do
n't
remember
anything
.
My
dad
,
he
starts
a
new
family
in
a
new
town
about
every
six
years
.
This
is
n't
so
much
like
a
family
as
it
's
like
he
sets
up
a
franchise
.
What
you
see
at
fight
club
is
a
generation
of
men
raised
by
women
.
Tyler
standing
under
the
one
light
in
the
after-midnight
blackness
of
a
basement
full
of
men
,
Tyler
runs
through
the
other
rules
:
two
men
per
fight
,
one
fight
at
a
time
,
no
shoes
no
shirts
,
fights
go
on
as
long
as
they
have
to
.
