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A cinnamon chip muffin sits on the couch. I thought they were chocolate, says Musette. I don’t care. It’s good to have variety. I need quick and easy things, anything that doesn’t make me gag. I’m a grains and nuts kind of guy, to be honest with you. Keep fruits and vegetables away.

There’s only so much that I can do, and I’ve got to start somewhere. Everybody tells me that nuts are better than meat but that if you eat too much of them, you’ll get a headache. I’ve got a lot of work to do, and I can’t be suffering with those kinds of trivialities. I don’t have an assistant, but I have something of a publisher. I’m not so much on my own anymore. Let’s not forget that I’ve got a therapist. I’ve got a friend in her. But I don’t feel right pushing more responsibility her way. She’s got a lot on her plate already. She’s got some new Irish writer on her mind. Recently divorced. Hunk of hot stuff. I still haven’t figured out how to loosen up the audience. How to turn single cells viral. Spread the infection.

I’m not supposed to eat anything this close to going swimming, but all I’ve had is the cinnamon chip muffin – the last of them, and all of my cereal is gone. I go through it faster than Speed Racer on the salt flats. My wife eats it too, but I fill my bowls to the brink, and I always eat two.

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