[ What makes Barry Weiss good, as the Blitz, is that he isn't afraid to die. A whole life spent running with nothing back at his flat but the bare essentials, and it isn't as though he's got a lot to live for except the pump of adrenaline through his veins and a cheap shot at getting famous.
But he is afraid, in the last few minutes that he has. Afraid, because not being afraid of dying isn't the same thing as wanting to, and because there's a girl with bleached blonde hair not waiting for him — he'd never play it that way — but out there, and he knows better than most about the insecurities that come along with too many teeth, knows she isn't ever going to figure out what happened to him.
Three months, twelve days, and he gets shot on a London rooftop, and no one's the wiser for it. ]
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But he is afraid, in the last few minutes that he has. Afraid, because not being afraid of dying isn't the same thing as wanting to, and because there's a girl with bleached blonde hair not waiting for him — he'd never play it that way — but out there, and he knows better than most about the insecurities that come along with too many teeth, knows she isn't ever going to figure out what happened to him.
Three months, twelve days, and he gets shot on a London rooftop, and no one's the wiser for it. ]
Th' fuck d'you know about my chances?