Chapter Text
Garak didn’t believe in utopian anything. It was a concept far outside both his personal philosophy and his personal experience.
Life simply wasn’t that smooth, and if it appeared to be, it was a lie - suspicious and not to be trusted.
If it insisted it was the case, it was dangerous and to be avoided by whatever means necessary.
Not only dangerous, but dull. While there were certainly times when Garak would have preferred a great deal less and fewer interesting events in his life, still, he’d never been born to be a clerical drudge, with their depressing sameness of days and office, nothing new of any significance ever happening.
He’d been born for a larger life, despite what the circumstances of his birth had said. He’d been lucky he’d found a way to express that life, even tho’ he now could wish for difference.
But that, like utopia, was not going to happen.
Why dwell on what could never be, when there was a shop to be run, and clothes to be designed, and ears to be kept open for whatever the decidedly non-utopian Universe and the people therein had to say?
Why indeed.