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October 1, 2013
This is perfunctory. I have no more love for writing, a neglected site, my ramblings, and beautiful words scarred by sloppy use in a mundane narrative.

This batch is to win a bet, the prize yet to be determined, but will likely have to do with ego.

Writing, I use you only for sport now. I will text Reading when we are out to dinner and lie about it. I will tell you you're pretty but then casually mention you need to trim a few words. I will toss you out of bed the next morning, when I have won.