My two best shirts are in that plastic bag next to the hamper. I don’t know what I will wear my tie with when the time comes for being really Deckard like.

The shirt that my dad got me is so tight.

I’ve got to feel good to look good.

I’m in my bathrobe at the moment.

I guess I look good, in a pipe smoking post-shower sort of way.

Yuja Wang’s Tchaikovsky 1 rolls me into Destiny but that only lasts for a round because there is a headache crawling somewhere around the crook in my neck making my cracklespot tingle.

I’m not inspired on ello, so I’m just letting that astral projection sit there, hands in the feed. A good morning to a good day. One case requested. La Damma Rossa Uccide Sette Volte.

Still no response from the pipe place.

No other interesting cases. The Reallife house is dark.  


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