8:38 a.m. - February 21, 2003
Eliot was right; it ends with a whimper, not a bang
Deposit paycheck, fill tank with gas, leave for the weekend.
No forecast for storm this weekend, I'll beachcomb.
I would have thought I'd prefer something bad to nothing at all and today I have nothing, absolutely nothing.
I do not much feel like writing anymore.
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