Randy: [Last Lines] The truth is I'm... I'm not an exceptional person, you know? Nothing interesting really ever happens to me, I'm massively flawed, and I think I'm quite forgettable if I'm being a hundred percent honest. And this isn't the shit bit at the end of the show where I get on the cross and I'm like "love me on the way out the door!" It's not that, it's just that I don't think like on a scale of one to memorable, I'm not that memorable. I'm not on the Morgan sort of scale. Not on the Ernest Hemmingway scale certainly, you know? But if I tell a great story, maybe people will remember that instead. Remember the card trick and just pretend that they don't know how it's done, you know? But must we leave a legacy? Must we make an impact? Do we have to leave a footprint? Is it okay to just settle? Seek safety? Nest? You know? Or must we constantly shake our lives up? Or suffer the indiscriminate cruelty of having it shaken against our will. Must we try to carve a path through the tall grass, feeling as though no one has ever felt how we feel. Terrified at what may be lurking low in the grass on either side of us, but just pressing ever onwards with that Paleolithic instinct deep within our chromosomes that the only way is forward. That you have to keep going. That eventually you'll stumble upon the edge of the field, hitch a ride from a passing car, and meet up with the rest of the gang for tea and sandwiches at the old town hall. Do we feel like the path that we are carving through the grass is all our own? Only to finally float above the field with the sweet relief of expiration and realize that the field is insignificantly miniscule in size! And that there's only one path through the grass. The exact same one that every human has trod before us and will ever after. Just stumbling blindly along a tiny hyphen between the words birth and death. And when reduced to that level of crisp simplicity... fear cannot exist. So... . ahem "Walking to Skye: Chapter One."
