“It is not the quality of the glass that matters, only the wine that it holds.”
He despised the very thought of the golden days stretching out ahead of him, where every whim and aristocratic vice was anticipated and obliged, because every single one of those days would be utterly identical.
As a rookie, he drew the night shift three weeks out of five. He didn’t complain—no point—and besides, it was another acknowledgment of the mantra good experience.
He just wished he could make a choice and not have so many doubts bubble up afterward.