Nostalgic...?

I never seem to know how I get here... I just do. In the garbage can... it almost feels like home. For instance, being still alive and still female is kinda getting familiar, like when at the end of _Fateless_ the protagonist says he's nostalgic for the camp. I was even thinking it would be easier there. I'd have work to do, and people to motivate me with kicks and guns and stuff. I wouldn't have to listen to people telling me I should lose weight. And I would be closer to dying, at least in theory. _The dream is back again - the girl in shock against the wall, glass falling like rain, people shouting, people running, people with the badge on. Every night I remember that, though I wasn't even there. Sometimes through the eyes of her mother, scared and frayed, sometimes through the eyes of a militiaman, triumphant, drunk and proud, with my dick hardening at the screams._ Why those years? I was born half a century later. Still, it seems I'd be more at home there. Home... what a concept.