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I’m home from the NYC and tired. I didn’t get mugged, didn’t see any dead bodies and mostly alternated between freezing my face off and eating and eating some more.

I really should go there more often. I forgot how much I like riding in trains. For under $200 and a few hours each way, the Acela train rocks.

M. says I write less when I’m happy. I think it’s more like I’m happy when I’m busy.

And, when I am fucking madly tired, what I write is crap. Such as this is.

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Talk with me. Please.

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