The beauty of being a fly on this fucking window is I can see you coming at me in basically slow motion. I’ll process it in milliseconds and be gone long before you make contact with this dirty, neglected pane of glass.

Assuming you’ve got me figured out is your misconception. You’re trying to interpret a foreign novel. But explaining myself to you would just be a poor attempt at translating that novel to a language with which you’re familiar and you’re illiterate anyways.