Younger Bloom (No first name - think why?:)
You don't understand what my brother does. He writes his cons the way dead Russians write novels, with thematic arcs and embedded symbolism and shit. And he wrote me as the vulnerable antihero.
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And I'm 35 years old. I don't... I'm useless. I'm crippled. I don't... I've only ever lived life through these roles that aren't me, that are written for me by you.
-Tell me what you want. Why? So you can write me a role in a story where I get it?
You're not listening to me! I want a real thing. I want a... I just... l want... l... want...
-You want an unwritten life.
I want an unwritten life.

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