It's so wet and cold... It was raining like a bucket, your hair was stuck to your head, as was your suit. What was the point of running for cover, rushing somewhere? it's gone. now you are left to the whole world, the whole world is your home. a house where mom cooks, ignoring you, and dad hid in a smoky office. No one is waiting for you.

from the condominium there were only memories in the form of burnt marks on the cladding of the building. the fragments of wonderful handmade plates have long been lying in the trash, the details of Ikea furniture have already become just burnt logs, and the film collection has sunk into oblivion. The explosion didn't just destroy the condo, it destroyed you. your meaning in life was in this crappy furniture, in Calvin Klein shirts, in damn erotic magazines, because your father didn't teach you real values.

and this Tyler... Damn Tyler. he was in the air with the most vivid hallucination: wherever you look, Durden in his red glasses crushes his forehead and makes faces. it was almost bullying, even when you moved in with him.

"I see your bruises have healed." Tyler speaks softly, but with a snakelike, mocking smile. He never seemed to get wet, even without an umbrella. "if the bruises have healed, then it means that you need to get sick? Stop standing here already, you look like a wet chicken."