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- Марк Мэнсон
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- Тонкое искусство пофигизма
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- Стр. 104/115
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That
was
the
last
thing
Josh
ever
said
to
me
.
He
said
it
ironically
,
attempting
to
sound
deep
while
simultaneously
making
fun
of
people
who
attempt
to
sound
deep
.
He
was
drunk
and
high
.
And
he
was
a
good
friend
.
The
most
transformational
moment
of
my
life
occurred
when
I
was
nineteen
years
old
.
My
friend
Josh
had
taken
me
to
a
party
on
a
lake
just
north
of
Dallas
,
Texas
.
There
were
condos
on
a
hill
and
below
the
hill
was
a
pool
,
and
below
the
pool
was
a
cliff
overlooking
the
lake
.
It
was
a
small
cliff
,
maybe
thirty
feet
high
—
certainly
high
enough
to
give
you
a
second
thought
about
jumping
,
but
low
enough
that
with
the
right
combination
of
alcohol
and
peer
pressure
that
second
thought
could
easily
vanish
.
Shortly
after
arriving
at
the
party
,
Josh
and
I
sat
in
the
pool
together
,
drinking
beers
and
talking
as
young
angsty
males
do
.
We
talked
about
drinking
and
bands
and
girls
and
all
of
the
cool
stuff
Josh
had
done
that
summer
since
dropping
out
of
music
school
.
We
talked
about
playing
in
a
band
together
and
moving
to
New
York
City
—
an
impossible
dream
at
the
time
.
We
were
just
kids
.
“
Is
it
okay
to
jump
off
that
?
”
I
asked
after
a
while
,
nodding
toward
the
cliff
over
the
lake
.
“
Yeah
,
”
Josh
said
,
“
people
do
it
all
the
time
here
.
”
“
Are
you
going
to
do
it
?
”
He
shrugged
.
“
Maybe
.
We
’
ll
see
.
”
Later
in
the
evening
,
Josh
and
I
got
separated
.
I
had
become
distracted
by
a
pretty
Asian
girl
who
liked
video
games
,
which
to
me
,
as
a
teenage
nerd
,
was
akin
to
winning
the
lottery
.
She
had
no
interest
in
me
,
but
she
was
friendly
and
happy
to
let
me
talk
,
so
I
talked
.
After
a
few
beers
,
I
gathered
enough
courage
to
ask
her
to
go
up
to
the
house
with
me
to
get
some
food
.
She
said
sure
.
