Hate Week

Extract from David Peace, Ninteen Seventy Four:

Hate Week.
Dawn on Friday 20 December 1974.
Awake on the floor of Room 27, covered in the ripped-up snow of a hundred sheets of red-penned lists.
Lists, I'd been writing lists since I'd left Paula's.
A big fat red felt-tip pen in my left hand, circles in my head, scrawling illegible lists across the backs of sheets of wallpaper.
Lists of names.
Lists of dates.
Lists of places.
Lists of girls.
Lists of boys.
Lists of the corrupt, the corrupted, and the corruptible.
Lists of the police.
Lists of the witnesses.
Lists of the families.
Lists of the missing.
Lists of the accused.
Lists of the dead.
I was drowning in lists, drowning in information.
About to write a list of journalists, but tearing the whole fucking lot into confetti, cutting my left hand and numbing my right.
DON'T TELL ME I DON'T FUCKING CARE.
On my back, thinking of lists of the women I'd fucked.
Dawn on Friday 20 December 1974.
Hate Week.