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This is the white man's clock. I'm on good advice not to trust it. In fact, last night I had six hours of sleeping down to four, and then down to only three due to all of this trickery and nonsense. Because of that I was fifteen minutes late in getting somewhere, and a half of an hour late in leaving again. It's shameful.
My friends are perfection. Yesterday all of Pittsburgh mysteriously found its way here. We drank drinks and went to a play and had ice cream.
If I had a mask to wear today, it would be a round little half of a skull with jagged teeth. I'm about going where I'm not meant to go. I always am. So soon I'll get a tattoo: two crossed keys on my arm. Meredith will be helping me. Rain, perhaps you'd like to help, too?